


The Predator Within

by LetalisGladio



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime, Transformers: Rescue Bots
Genre: ALL OF IT, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eh whatever let's say there's angst too, Fluff, I changed the rating, I lied this is totally a slash fic, Kinda, Knock Out is having coping issues, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Megatron is too happy with this situation, Megs is a cheesy sappy bastard, Predacon!Optimus, Predaking acting like a dad, Ratchet freaking out regularly, Somewhat, Sticky Sex, Stockholm Syndrome, Ultra Magnus can't deal with Smokescreen, Yeah I changed the relationship tag, but hey that's why we love him, dayum son, eventual Spark Bond, intergalactic shenanigans, it eventually gets kinda violent, it's pretty mutual, shameless cuddling, so that fluff is balanced out, this turned into a multi-arc story, whoops, wow the tags kind just grew exponentially, yeah im most definitely gonna change the rating too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-07-18 16:10:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 60,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7321876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetalisGladio/pseuds/LetalisGladio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While out on a routine scouting mission, the Autobots stumble upon a small and fiercely guarded energon mine. Afterwords, Optimus discovers himself in a state where he can't reach out to his fellow Autobots, and finds that the only hope he has may just be a certain Predacon with a sworn allegiance to Megatron and the warlord himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arc 1: Research

**Author's Note:**

> Eyyyyyy! So this was my first fanfiction ever, from like two and a half years ago! Jeez, I haven't been inspired in forever, but after a lot of things happening, I've decided to rewrite it and migrate it over from fanfiction.net.
> 
> So yeah! The Transformers medium is really fun to write in, and I know there's a lot of different interpretations, so I hope this one is up to par. Hope y'all enjoy this revamped version of The Predator Within!

**Arc 1**

_"Stab the skin and it heals,_

_but injure the heart and the wound lasts a lifetime."_

_**—Mineko Iwasaki** _

 

Optimus twiddled his fingers as his servos rested on his chassis, his back struts pressing into his rather uncomfortable berth. His team had finished what should have been a routine energon scouting mission in a small disaster, running into a Decepticon-controlled mine and getting caught in a shoot out that lasted almost an entire megacycle.

The solar cycle ended up in further depleted fuel stores, quite a few dents that Rachet was _not_  happy about pounding out, and exhaustion that should have sent them all into a deep recharge. And yet, Optimus found he could not power down, despite the aching in his plating and the pain clawing at the back of his processor, demanding that he fall into recharge immediately.

His vents huffed in defeat as he swung his large pedes over the edge of his berth and rested his arms comfortably on his thighs, his mind wandering despite its blatant protests. Optimus leaned back on the wall behind him and tilted his helm back, allowing himself to briefly offline his optics. Something was nagging at his processor, and he was having trouble piecing it all together. The Vehicons they had encountered hadn't seemed as under-fueled as usual, and fought with a strange, renewed purpose. It made the Prime wonder if there may have been more in that mine they had stumbled upon than just energon.

He stood and stretched quietly, still not quite used to his increased frame size. As soundlessly as possible, Optimus left his berth room, his pedsteps the only noise in the desolate hallways of their hanger base. He entered the main room and made a beeline for the central computers. He might as well do some research; the familiarity of it always seemed to induce a sense of calmness. And a melancholic pain that reminded him of the past.

The flickering green light of computers booting up filled the empty room, soon followed by the clack of digits as they typed in a search query. Cybertronain text flitted across one of the screens while strange images scrolled down another. The third and furthest right was in English, surprisingly enough. Optimus occasionally glanced up at it, then read the Cybertronian subtext. Rafael had been teaching him and Rachet his language, as the medic gladly helped the youngest organic learn theirs.

After an hour or so, the keys stopped typing and Optimus let out a small growl that broke his normally calm demeanor. This was getting frustrating. How did such a small energon mine send up the extreme readings the Autobots had encountered earlier in the solar cycle? Maybe trying a new search on the human Internet would reveal a flawed—

The Prime's vents sputtered, the equivalent of a human yawn, and his optics began to flicker with exhaustion. One large servo reached up to cup the side of his face, his elbow strut resting on the platform next to the computer console. English and Cybertronian blurred together, swimming across his vision.

Rapidly shuttering his optics, Optimus tried to clear the imprints left on them. His servos suddenly clenched around the console in a vain attempt to steady the drained Prime as he dangerously leaned to one side.

He pushed himself up, turning off the computers as he gradually hauled himself back to his berth to recharge, deciding maybe he'd continue his investigation later tomorrow.

* * *

Knock Out was bored. Beyond bored. So fragging boooooored...

The Aston Martin sighed and shook himself from his thoughts, straightening himself up to absentmindedly pat down his frame. It always blowed when he had the graveyard shift in the med bay. Like, for Primus' sake, no mech in their right mind would come in with a life threatening injury when it was this late. Why couldn't somebot else cover for him? Then he could return to his quarters, grab a cube of high grade from his personal stores, maybe cozy up and watch a holovid with Break—

The mental stab hit him so hard he actually flinched. The medic shied away from the thoughts of his Conjux Endura, taking a shaky in-vent and turning to his tools in a pathetic attempt to reorganize them. Let's see, the ion welder went there, and the neural dialyser went next to his impressive collection of syringes, and then there was his buffer.

Knock Out chewed on his lip-plate, servos trembling lightly as he examined the buffer, running his fingers over the worn handle. He remembered when his partner would fix his finish after a mission out on this Primus-forsaken planet, tenderly waxing every groove and curve like it was the most important thing in the universe. He had rarely ever returned the favor, something he regretted so much. Knock Out would trade everything he had to get the chance to touch Breakdown's frame again, to map it out one last time, to see his Conjux without...without that organic _thing_  buried in his chest! He clutched the buffer close, fighting the cleaner fluid threatening to drip from his optics. The medic wanted his old partner back, not that crazy, one-optic freak who bossed him around and experimented with anybot and anything he could get his hands on! And don't even get him started on his paintjob threatening pet!

 _Slag it! If it's important, I can be commed!_  Knock Out stalked out of the med bay, consequences be damned, with buffer still crushed against his chassis. He suddenly felt like he needed to be left alone, and any stupid spark who got themselves hurt could just eat it. He was done. Yeah, he was going to go grab that high grade and watch that holovid, and while it was sparkwrenching that he'd never be able to do so with Breakdown again, at least he wouldn't have to sit in a cold, lonely room with nothing but way too sober thoughts to keep him company.

Knock Out made it to his quarters without incident, slipping inside before realizing there was no bot to keep quite for. With that depressing thought, he found the high grade he had been looking for, downing half the cube in one long swallow. Snatching a datapad off a shelf of his favorites, he flopped down on his berth chassis-first and booted the holovid up. However, just as the buzz began in his systems and the datapad got past the title screen, he was pinged.

**::What? I'm on my offshift!::**

There was a pause. **::No, you are not. How are the tests on the...specialized energon we found in mine Delta-46 going?::**

**::I wouldn't know. It's not my job, Shockwave!::**

Another pause. **::I believe Lord Megatron said I was your superior for this project. You are on duty. I assigned you the testing portion of—::**

**::Shockwave! I said I'm not up for it, chapishe?::**

**::What is a 'chapishe'?::**  Knock Out groaned, ignoring the question to avoid another lecture from the scientist about how he should forgo his 'unhealthy' obsession with human culture and mannerisms.

**::Look, I'll give you the results at the beginning of the next shift. I just need some time to myself. You understand, right? We scientists are introverts, after all.::**

**::That is illogical. Why can't you give me the results now? And what do you mean by—::**  The medic shut Shockwave out with a frustrated groan, his helm plopping onto his berth. He inhaled through his olfactory sensors. Burnt rubber, wax, just a hint of oil cake. It smelled like Breakdown, though the comfort was short-lived. The scent was slowly disappearing, yet another piece of his Conjux lost to him. Knock Out whimpered, the desire to watch the holovid gone, and curled into himself, nursing the rest of his high grade. Stupid Shockwave and his stupid experiments. Stupid Airachnid and MECH for taking away his Breakdown. Stupid Breakdown for dying.

Knock Out ended up passing out after finishing the high grade, so out of it he could almost believe he was spending the night with Breakdown rather than alone. Alone, save the beeping message on his personal data console, alerting him of the finished results of the energon tests he was supposed to deliver to Shockwave.


	2. Storm

The training room was filled with the sounds of metal clanging against metal as Arcee and Bumblebee sparred each other, their respective human counterparts cheering them on. Ratchet, who was hanging idly by the door, occasionally added his input, although it mostly consisted of him snapping at the two to stop denting each other or yelling at Bulkhead and Miko, who were currently using Raf's laptop to stream the newest heavy metal hits.

Optimus watched, only half-interested in his surroundings. Exhaustion was still weighing heavily on his frame, as, despite his efforts, he was unable to get sufficient recharge the previous night.

Distantly, he heard the hanger doors open and two pairs of pedsteps approach the training room. They were soon joined by angry voices.

Smokescreen was the first to enter, followed closely by Ultra Magnus. The younger Autobot's servos were clamped over his auditory receptors, and he looked rather disgruntled. Ultra Magnus didn't appear much better.

There was a loud clang, and Optimus didn't have to look to know that Arcee had landed a kick on Bumblebee, presumably because the scout was distracted by the twosome's entrance. Ratchet glanced up from his datapad and Bulkhead gave them a skittish look, mumbling something incoherent to his partner.

"Uh...you guys okay?" Miko asked tentatively from her perch on the Wrecker's shoulder guard.

"No. No we are not. Someone," Smokescreen turned around to give Ultra Magnus a deadly glare, "suggested that we double back _five_  times on the way here. Dude, I'm sorry, but I've been on duty the entire solar cycle _and_  got landed night patrol, and I don't want to go past some stupid rock a bajillion times as part of protocol to get home to some sweet, sweet recharge."

The Elite Guard cadet roughly huffed his vents, looking slightly murderous when Ultra Magnus snorted and growled, "Well, I'm just making sure that Decepticons do not discover our whereabouts. I'm sorry if it that affects your beauty rest, _soldier_."

Smokescreen snarled and threw his servos in the air. "Fine! Fine!" He then stomped out of the training room and off towards his berthroom, grumbling something about the Magnus having a stick shift up his exhaust pipe.

Ultra Magnus' vents stalled, sounding similar to a frustrated sigh. He left to go to his recharge berth as well, but Optimus stopped him with a servo on the his shoulder.

"He is young. You should not be so harsh on him."

The general narrowed his optics. "We are at war. This isn't some game where he can flaunt around and act on a whim."

Optimus dipped his helm in acknowledgement, but decided not to press any further. Rather, he switched tactics and asked a different question. "Where is Wheeljack?"

"He's off driving. Again. I do not know when he will come back." Satisfied with the unsurprising answer, the Prime let him leave for some much-deserved recharge before making his way back over towards his previous spot by Ratchet. In an unusually gentle voice, the medic said, "You should get some rest."

His looked concerned, an expression that made him look vorns older and eons sadder.

"You look like you had an awful recharge. Go ahead and join them, Optimus, we'll wake you up if there's trouble," Ratchet said, lacking the harsh conviction he usually held. He supplied Optimus with small smile.

"Are you sure, old friend? You'll get me if there's anything, no matter how trivial?" he asked.

"Of course. You've looked awful since that mine attack. Now, listen to this half-scrapped medibot and go." He a shooing motion with his servo, his field friendly and affectionate. Until he turned around to face Bumblebee, who had accidentally broken the doorwing brace Ratchet had given him.

" _Bumblebee_! I needed that!"

* * *

Optimus had left the training room before one of Ratchet's tantrums occurred, knowing full well the audio-full they were about to receive. However, on his way to his berthroom, thoughts of the mine distracted him.

Taking a sharp right, he ended up back in the Groundbridge room, the computers casting a green glow over the dreary and dark space. Optimus went to turn on the overhead lights when the hanger door suddenly began to shudder and rumble.

Optimus whirled around, his servo already transforming into a large-barreled blaster. Slowly edging towards the door, he held his other servo out, ready to open it.

The hanger door was flung open, nothing behind it save dark sheets pummeling the ground around the military compound. It was a rainstorm, and a bad one at that.

Cautiously, Optimus trudged outside, checking the barely visible perimeters in case there actually had been a Decepticon attempting to enter their base. Deeming it safe, his servo transformed back and he stretched his large digits skyward. A whirl of rain spun past him, hammering against his plating and mucking up his pedes by softening the dirt around them.

Optics narrowed, partly out of suspicion of the strange weather patterns of this planet, partly to shield them from the rain, the Prime made his way back inside the hanger and hurriedly shut the large door. Shaking himself like a cyberdog, he then headed for their less-than-adequate washracks, recalling he hadn't done so after their run-in with the Decepticons.

The Prime had almost made it when an alarm pierced the air, sending the Autobots scrambling to the main controls. By the time he got there, Ratchet was already at the console, typing away furiously. The medic gave his soaking plating an incredulous look but said nothing, returning to the computer. Optimus flinched when his research popped up, but the medic was too busy to notice as he pulled up a Groundbridge page, a beacon pulsing on several different maps. The coordinates were the same as the ones as the mine.

It couldn't be a coincidence. Maybe Optimus could finally indulge that nagging at the back of his processor.

"Autobots, we will be scouting it out first. Primus knows we are low on energon, and the last thing we need is to spill what precious little we have left. Proceed with caution," Optimus said. Bumblebee chirped anxiously, but the Prime waved it off. "No, Smokescreen and Ultra Magnus need their rest. We will go without them and call for backup if needed. Ratchet, give us a Groundbridge."

The vortex swirled to life in front of Optimus, a sinking feeling filling his spark. He could feel it down to the Matrix; going back to this strange place would only result in catastrophe.

* * *

Bumblebee had already been in a sour mood—thank you very much, Arcee—but it only worsened when he stepped out of the Groundbridge, his tanks churning and his vision flickering. The whole "space-time continium" thing always made the normally-perky scout woozy.

Thankfully, none of the team noticed the slight sway in his step, like he'd gotten overcharged on energon. Bumblebee, with relief, quickly shook himself to clear away the pulsing in his processor before taking a routine sweep of their surroundings.

Out of the rain, he could see giant rock faces looming on either side of him, creating a small canyon that was slowly being flooded with murky water. Mud sloshed down from above their helms and stuck to their pedes mercilessly, making an obscene squelch every time somebot moved. The scout couldn't help but snicker at the noise, though quickly stopped at the look Arcee gave him.

The rain was pounding anything and everything it could touch, providing ample cover for their mission. One paticularly fat raindrop landed on Bumblebee's permanent battlemask, startling the scout into nearly tripping over his own pedes. This time it was his turn to glare at Arcee, who was covering her intake with her servo, her optics gleaming with suppressed laughter.

"That's our scout. Fearless and graceful," she remarked.

 _Whatever_ , Bumblebee beeped out, deciding to direct his focus on the muddy ground, analyzing its advantages and reporting them to Optimus.

"I believe you are correct, Bumblebee. But while the rain may muffle the noise of our approach, it will make visibility low and covering our tracks difficult, if not impossible."

"Still works for us, though." Arcee asked, onlining a blaster. "'Cons won't see us coming."

"Yeah, but we won't see them either!" Bulkhead countered, the group beginning to edge forward. They kept their optics open, but it was difficult, rain assaulting both auditory and visual inputs. No knowledge of the area, which was dangerously close to home, and being vastly outnumbered made Bumblebee's spark flutter with unease, and he was praying to Primus they wouldn't just stumble on the Decepticons again, because they would be at a severe disadvantage.

Eventually, Bumblebee was able to pick up the sound of drilling over the roar of the storm, albeit barely, and he commed Optimus for permission to go in and get a closer look.

 **::Yes. Just be careful, Bumblebee. Pull back if you are in immediate danger of being spotted.::**  The scout nodded and snuck off, feeling Optimus' tired optics at his back. He felt a stab of concern for their leader. With their low energon stocks and his constant stress, the Prime looked rather worse for wear. Bumblebee hoped that they would be able to retrieve the much-needed fuel, for Optimus' sake.

The scout ducked behind rock formations and boulders, finally choosing a spot that was relatively close to the mine entrance. He cautiously peeked out, shifting his position as the wind threatened to throw him out of hiding. Pressing his chassis to the slick rock, he slunk closer, shuttering his optics against the rain. Bumblebee liked Earth, he really did, but weather like this made him yearn for the clearer conditions back on Cybertron.

Casting his gaze over the mine, the scout suddenly froze, an angry buzzing beginning to fill his processor. Megatron was down by the mine entrance, arms crossed and stance haughty, conducting what appeared to be a surprise inspection.

Bumblebee's servos clenched the rock underneath them, his shoulder plating hunched. A long and low mechanical noise of hatred emanated from his voice box, replacing the one that the monster just a little ways away had savagely ripped out.

**::We've got a situation, sir.::**

**::What is it, Bumblebee?::**  Optimus asked, his voice calming even over the comms. Bumblebee was about to respond when Megatron turned to vaguely face his direction.

 **::Scrap! Give me a nanoklik!::**  The scout crouched down and leaned, trying to get a better view while trying to hide his rather blatant paintjob. Yellow racing stripes weren't exactly the stealthiest.

 **::Bumblebee! What is it? Were you spotted?::**  Optimus asked urgently, the young Autobot struggling to respond over the jackhammer pounding of his spark.

 **::No, I'm fine. We may have more than just miners to deal with, though.::**  For a second, the scout thought that his connection had cut off, concerned by the lack of answer.

 **::Megatron,::**  the Prime finally growled, and Bumblebee could feel the force behind the designation.

There was the sudden purr of a powerful engine, and the scout quickly snapped his optics skyward, watching as a fighter plane spiraled towards the mine. Starscream transformed and landed with a muddy splash, the Seeker braking his bravado to squeal as dirt and mud covered his plating, much to his disgust. He wrapped his arms around his chestplates protectively and approached Megatron, and Bumblebee could feel a smirk on his faceplates as miners shied away from the second-in-command, covering their auditory receptors or rushing back to their jobs. Even Starscream's own subordinates had given up on holding formalities around him.

Bumblebee leaned as far forward as possible and tried to catch the conversation, only able to hear bits and pieces over the roar of the wind. He growled and wriggled closer to the mine.

"Bring me a sample," Megatron ordered at a group of mechs clustered nearby. The miners scattered and dashed off, returning with a sizable hunk of...something between them. Bumblebee's optics focused in on the object as he tried to identify it through the haze of the storm. It appeared similar to energon, yet it was much too blue and glowed brighter than any ration he'd ever seen. The scout blinked and pressed himself closer, straining to hear more of the conversation.

"How have the tests been going?" the warlord asked. It was Knock Out's voice that replied, but it was laced with an unusual edge, thick as if he'd almost been crying or something of the sort. Bumblebee couldn't get a visual on the red medic to confirm his suspicions. "We...uh...haven't been able to refine any yet, my liege. It takes quite a while to—"

Starscream cut him short with an annoying whine. "You've had quite a few solar cycles, Knock Out. Surely, that is enough time to refine energon. That _unfortunate incident_  isn't slowing down your working ability, is it?"

The scout could hear Knock Out's vents sputter from his hiding place as the medic retorted, vocalizer steely and dripping with venom, "Well, whatever this is, it isn't energon, _Commander_  Starscream."

Bumblebee was able to finally catch a glimpse of the Aston Martin, his servos clenched and ready to transform into a saw if need be. The Seeker stalked towards him with his claws raised. "Watch your sass, Grounder!"

"Only if you hold your glossa about Breakdown, Screamer." Knock Out looked as though he was shaking, but Bumblebee couldn't be sure if he was or it was just a trick of the rainwater flooding his optics.

"He speaks the truth, Starscream." A deep voice spoke, stopping the two from their inevitable clash.

"Oh, my, if it isn't our scientific _expert_ , Shockwave!" Starscream chirred gleefully, clapping his servos together and sending a pointed glare at Knock Out. Bumblebee almost felt sorry for the fellow sports car. Though, he did have to roll his optics; it seemed as if every single high ranking officer was there.

So much for getting that energon the Autobots had been hoping for.

"While holding nearly exact flux readings as energon, these crystals seem to be very similar in chemical make-up to the Predacon," the scientist droned, gesturing for Knock Out to hand him a datapad. The medic conceded, but not without some grumbling. He tapped it a few times, then handed it to Megatron, Starscream peeking curiously around his shoulder. It was a miracle that the Seeker wasn't immediately swatted away.

Shockwave seemed like he was about to say something else—Bumblebee couldn't tell since that creepy old mech had no intake, which made him further wonder how he refueled—when a particularly violent gust of rain slammed the Decepticons, and Bumblebee along with them. He fumbled for a hold on the rock, desperately trying to maintain his cover yet stay close to the conversation, but couldn't silence the crash that came from his doorwings slamming against the the ground as he slipped and fell, wind tearing at the sensitive appendages and the impact making the scout's processor white with pain. So much for the healing Ratchet's brace had helped with.

"What was that?" Knock Out asked, tension evident in his voice. The Decepticions in the area were immediately on guard, previous tasks dropped.

"Probably just the equipment," Bumblebee heard Starscream say. "Honestly, you all are too wound up."

Megatron's heavy pedsteps shook the ground, and the scout scuttled backwards, back struts pressing into the rock face. _Slag!_

"This coming from such a paranoid Seeker," the warlord hummed lowly, sounding closer to Bumblebee. He couldn't help the low whine of distress that escaped his vocalizer, and it apparently carried over to his EM field before he could restrain himself, because he could just _hear_  the smirk in Megatron's voice. "I wonder, Starscream, if simple mining equipment can emit emotion."

Long claws hooked around the rock and scraped slowly across its surface, growing painstakingly closer to Bumblebee, who was holding as still as he possibly could. Fear got the better of him as the chance of Megatron giving up and writing off his presence as just a trick of the processor grew slimmer, and he commed Optimus.

**::Sir—::**

**::We have a visual. Hang in there, Bumblebee!::**

Just as the claws reached Bumblebee's helm, a shot rang out, and Bumblebee was met by the comforting sight of his team charging out into the open, blasters loaded and firing. Then all Pit broke loose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's chapter 2! If you've read this on fanfiction.net, then you'd realize that chapters are WAY longer and combined and added to and blah blah blah. It's all part of the grand scheme of things >:D
> 
> This is where the "Ultra Magnus can't deal with Smoescreen" tag starts. Idk why, but these two are too fun to mess with. And Knock Out isn't gonna take shit about BD from anyone.
> 
> As always, yell at me if grammar/nitty gritty is messed up, leave a comment or slip me ideas. Or some sort of sugary and edible thing. I was up at like 2 last night editing and just gave up on posting until today ;)


	3. Shatter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is up early 'cause family friends are coming over for the weekend and I won't have time to write anything. I hope that's okay.
> 
> tbh though, Starscream is way too fun to write, and I have a feeling when I eventually do Soundwave he'll be even BETTER. X3 Crazy emoji-obsessed ninja plane.
> 
> Just bare with me I promise chapters will eventually get longer! *cries* Why did old me format these so weirdly?!?!

**::Optimus! What is it? What's wrong?::**  Ratchet's comm link crackled with static, hardly a nanoklik's pause after the Prime had contacted him.

**::Unfortunately, we have engaged the Decepticons. Send in Ultra Magnus and Smokescreen!::**

**::Affirmative! Just hang in there!::**  Optimus shot a hole through a Vehicon's chestplates, wounding yet not snuffing him. He wanted the least amount of casualties, and prolonged fighting would just further deplete energon reserves. The Prime regretted calling in more mechs, but they would need more firepower to fight through the hoard of Decepticons surrounding them.

As if summoned by his processor, a Groundbridge swirled to life and both armored truck and sports car shot through. Optimus, who had to pause to elbow a Vehicon that had tried to tackle him, bellowed, "Help get everyone out! We can gather energon later!"

The two understood and rushed straight for Arcee and Bulkhead, the pair frantically trying to fight off a squadron and make their way to the Groundbridge. Smokescreen glanced over his shoulder, his optics flashing. "Bee!"

The frantic tone of his voice made Optimus whirl around, muttering several creative words that the priests of Iacon would _not_  have approved of him using and transformed into vehicle mode, speeding towards his scout. Bumblebee, who had been the closest to Megatron when they had advanced, was bravely fighting the warlord, though from a distance. He was struggling to get a shot in, dancing around to barely avoid blasts from Megatron's fusion cannon and Starscream's frantic missiles and blaster fire. The only reason he was still online was that the two Decepticons were merely toying with him.

"Megatron!" At his designation, the warframe leered at Optimus, raising his arm to block the powerful kick thrown by the Prime in mid-transformation. He slid backwards, kicking up mud and water as he went. He continued to advance, but the warlord was uncharacteristically avoiding his attacks, merely dodging them.

"As much as I'd love to spend time rolling around in the the mud with you, Optimus, I have things to attend to," Megatron said, back-handing his assailant hard enough to send most mechs to the scrap heap. He then waved what Optimus thought was an energon sample mockingly and transformed, Starscream following suit. The two jet alt modes left a spray of muck in their wake as they hurtled back to the Nemesis.

Optimus growled, tempted to follow them, but Bumblebee's alarmed chirp reminded him of his teammates' situation. He joined the scout, pushing through the crowd and towards the mine where the Autobots were holding fast. Most of the miners and soldiers around them lay in stasis lock or were offline, and Optimus sent a couple of blasts at the remaining troops, causing them to scatter. The mine was clear, and the group cautiously trudged inside.

Optimus craned his neck upwards to peer at the unusually tall ceiling, a dark blue pulse radiating from the crystals that adorned it. From the information that Bumblebee was steadily supplying him with, the Autobot leader knew that they weren't the desperately needed fuel as had been hoped.

 _We can try going in deeper. See if there's usable stuff,_  the scout suggested in binary, his dented doorwings flapping unconsciously. Optimus nodded. "So long as we are careful. This mine could be very structurally unstable."

While they had thought mine had been small, in reality it spread out into what appeared to be three separate caverns, the one they were standing in seemingly the biggest at the size of an average building back on Cybertron. Two tunnels led off to a cave-network, traveling deep underground. "Arcee, stand guard."

"Got it, chief." Her pedsteps echoed of the stone walls, giving testament to the size of the cavern.

Optimus walked over to the tunnel on his right, carefully glancing in. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary; though he could not see all the way down it, there were more large crystals. None of them seemed to be mineable energon, just the strange look-alikes. It made the Prime wonder their true function, if they had one at all. After all, they could just be half-fossilized or a strange, organic influenced strain of Energon. He decided to take some back to Ratchet in case it was usable.

There was a piercing scream that ripped Optimus from his thoughts. He just had time to turn and get a glimpse of one ruby optic before a fusion blast hit the roof of the tunnel. He heard one of his teammates call out his name, but it was too late as he dodged past the cascade of falling rocks, ending up trapped in the tunnel and separated from the rest of the Autobots. He could dimly hear blaster fire and shouts, and he engaged his cannon, onlining the massive weapon before remembering how unstable the cave was. Optimus heard his vocalizer give a noise of panic before he clamped down on it. Now was no time to lose his cool.

 **::Autobots? Autobots, this is Optimus. Does anybot read me?::**  Static filled his comms as no one responded. The rock surrounding him must be tampering with his systems, a rather bleak thought with several tons of rock blocking his exit.

Grumbling, Optimus turned and made his way down the tunnel, the strange crystals getting progressively larger until he came to another cavern. Hunks of true energon and the other substance jutted out from the walls, and a pool of the stuff sat in the center, looking as though it had somehow been half-refined and swirling together with rain that had leaked in from the storm.

Another blast shook the mine and Optimus craned his faceplates upward, dirt and debris spraying down on him, his only warning as a sharp chunk of dark blue crystal came loose. It hurtled downwards, Optimus unable to move quickly enough, the shard piercing the Prime's chassis, nicking the Matrix, sliding past the gel lining of his spark chamber, and coming into briefest contact with his spark itself. Or at least that's what it felt like, his optics offlining and his pedes stumbling over each other, sending him into the pool of dark blue liquid.

* * *

Starscream's wings drooped submissively as he bowed before his master, his frame pulled in close and rattling against his protoform. Despite the nonchalant show Megatron had put on in front of the Prime, the warlord was actually furious. No one had reported the Autobots finding the mine the previous solar cycle, something he'd found out as soon as the boarded the Nemesis and Soundwave had asked for a debriefing. That coupled with the pesky grounders _reappearing_  and clearing out not only a potential energy source, but one of scientific advances as well, had Megatron absolutely _fuming_.

And who better than to take out that anger than his ever-loyal second.

"Why can't anyone ever report in when they're supposed to? Honestly, is Soundwave the only competent one on this ship?" The Seeker flinched at the sheer volume of Megatron's roar, trying to shrink himself further to appear as small and unthreatening as possible. The tactic of seeing his second-in-command so pliant and insignificant usually quelled the warlord's anger.

The keyword there was _usually_.

"Well, Starscream? Don't just stand there, shivering and pathetic! Give me an explanation for this incompetence!" Megatron dwindled off to a deadly whisper, leaning in close enough for Starscream to feel his vents sputtering against him as they tried to cool the raging warframe down. He knew that Megatron's anger would fizzle out eventually, and since they'd been getting along better since the Omega Lock incident that he _probably_  wouldn't get offlined, but the underlying threat in Megatron's field still made him squeak pitifully. It was rather overwhelming.

"U-um, m-my liege, that would be under head of mining operations' jurisdiction. I had no clue about the Autobots discovering the whereabouts of mine Delta-46, but if you want me to punish—"

"No, no. I'll just...I'll take care of it," Megatron said, bringing both servos to his helm and scrubbing his faceplates. Starscream shuttered his optics at his master's sudden change of attitude. A subtle peek around his massive frame revealed Soundwave at his normal console, digits skittering across its surface. As if sensing his gaze, the spymaster inclined his visor, a quick image flitting on the screen.

**{{:3}}**

Checking to make sure Megatron wasn't looking, the Seeker made a face. Soundwave had a weird obsession with those...those humans things. Oh, what were they called? Whatever, Starscream didn't care, but got the message. After all, the bond the ex-gladiators shared was phenomenal, and once again the third-in-command was able to calm one of Megatron's fits with a simple and gentle pulse through his EM field. And possibly save the lives of one or five Vehicon officers.

"These fools are going to give me a spark attack," Megatron muttered angrily, shoving past Starscream and heading for the lower decks. As soon as the warframe was out of sight, his vents gasped greedily and his plating relaxed, his wings swiveling up as he turned on Soundwave. The spymaster shrugged.

 **{{Starscream: _looked like you needed help_ ,}}** he said in the voice of a drunken and rather blatantly suggestive Eradicon. Switching recordings, he stated matter-of-factly—or as much as one can when they're alternating between Knock Out's high-pitched whine and Megatron's low rumble, **{{Decepticons: _can't be...losing more...sparks...attached...to the cause...just because our lord is angry...with...those foolish Autobots!_ }}**

Starscream rolled his optics, servos on his hip joints. "I could've handled it."

**{{( T_T)＼(^-^ )}}**

"Would you quit it?"

Soundwave's visor tilted to the side as he cocked his helm questioningly. **{{ _No!_ }}** he yelled in Starscream's own voice, startling the Seeker, then following it up with **{{(=ﾟωﾟ)ﾉ}}**

Starscream growled in annoyance, turning away from the spymaster's final **{{ <3}}** and stalking off towards his quarters. He needed a good scrubbing; the infernal planet they were orbiting was disgusting, and this mud was getting into the cracks and crevices of his plating and it was irritating him to no end. The prospect of a nice long shower warmed his plating and nearly made him giddy. Primus knows he deserves it.

He rounded the corner and his wings drooped, a snarl worming his way onto his faceplates at the gargantuan frame outside his quarters. Of course his least favorite mech would be there to ruin his plans. Starscream just seemed unable to escape the never ending cycle.

Sensing his agitation, the violator turned, his field tense and awkward as his claws tapped together anxiously. "Ah, greetings, Commander Starscream. Do you have a moment?"

"For you?" Starscream scoffed, before groaning and waving his servo dismissively. "Make it quick."

Well, he _had_  addressed him properly for once, after all. Maybe beasts did have manners.

Or maybe this was just another ploy for him to burn the second-in-command alive.

Predaking's field brightened marginally, his wings flapping and stirring up dust in the dismal hallway. "I have been hearing things about my creator beginning a project that will affect me. May I ask if this is true?"

The Predacon's mannerisms were extremely similar to the ex-first lieutenant Dreadwing, and Starscream had to squelch the urge to purge his tanks. The scenario of the large Seeker's death still haunted his nightmares, and though he was glad to have his position back, it didn't make the mech's death any less gruesome.

"Why don't you ask him?" Starscream drawled, trying to step around Predaking, only for him to move back in front of him.

"I understand we have our differences," the Seeker snorted at that, "and do not get along well," the understatement of the vorn, "but I do not wish to be cast aside, and my existence appears to be a sensitive topic to have a spark-to-spark about with my creator. So please, are the things I am hearing true?"

Starscream drew himself up, his wings tilted high as if to appear bigger—though it helped little and he barely came up to Predaking's chestplates regardless—and responded briskly, "Yes, we have discovered...a previously unknown substance. No, you do not have clearance to ask what it is." The Predacon's faceplates fell at the harsh statement. "But it should not hinder your position aboard this ship and the cause."

"I see," he said, tapping his chin thoughtfully with one claw. Starscream suppressed a shudder at how large they were and how they could easily rip him to shreds. "Thank you, Commander Starscream, for putting me at ease."

"Yes, yes. You're welcome. Now if you'll excuse me," the Seeker slipped around the Predacon and punched in the access code to his quarters, slinking inside and ignoring the hulking mech behind him. He sighed when the doors shut, and he made his way to his personal washracks. He could finally get this nasty organic filth off his plating.

**::Starscream:**

The Seeker actually _roared_  in frustration. **::What?::**

The silence following his outburst concerned Starscream to no end, making him wonder how badly he fragged up. **::Is that any way to speak to your master?::**

**::O-of course not! I apologize immensely, Lord Megatron, I just—::**

**::No excuses! I need you down in Shockwave's lab, now!::**

Starscream's vents sighed after the comm link cut out, casting his washracks a longing glance. Oh, the woes of being the Decepticon second-in-command.


	4. Absent

Optimus onlined his optics, shuttering them against the dimness of his surroundings. Groaning, he opened his intake, only for liquid to rush in and clog his pipes. He sputtered as his vents tried to clear themselves out, but a quick diagnostics check revealed that he was completely submerged, his systems flooded.

Cybertronians needed no oxygen; however, prolonged exposure to certain substances were detrimental to internal mechanics. Water could corrode armor and make cooling vents fail, so Optimus quickly began to fight his way upwards, his pedes kicking awkwardly against silty water, thick with the mysterious blue substance. He finally reached the surface, his vents gasping for air, yellow warnings popping up over his HUD as he struggled to the edge of the pool and his servos clawed at unyielding mud.

Hauling himself out of the tainted water, Optimus lay on his back, his optics trained on the crystals above him, the only source of light in the dim cavern. His vents made an alarming noise as they struggled to expel the pseudo-energon mixture, the Prime shuddering as all of his systems worked overtime opening and shifting his plating.

Optimus coughed and tried to stand, only to fall forward and slam back down on his servos. Shaking his helm, he offlined his optics to allow for some of the water to drain away. Onlining them once more, his faceplates scrunched in confusion. Did he still have something in his optics?

He rubbed at them with a shaky servo, going stock-still as claws brushed against his helm. Slowly, ever-so-slowly, Optimus pulled his arm away, inspecting his servo with increasing bewilderment.

Razor-sharp digits danced as the Prime tried to wiggle his fingers, connected to thick, red-plated arms. His gaze traveled down to his chassis, finding that it was no longer such. Instead, his chestplates were armor-like and surrounding a glowing indent over his spark chamber. A quick check revealed that it was indeed plating, and thankfully not his actual spark out in the open. Almost comically, Optimus tried to see his own neck, deduced it was long and covered in red and black plating, and was, in fact, impossible to get a good look at. He huffed, before turning his head and staring down his back and to the tip of a sleek tail. He had individual spinal platings, which was all but a foreign concept to Optimus, and blue spines of varying sizes that twitched in agitation.

It took a second for all of this information to process, but when it did, a whir of alarm escaped him and he stumbled backwards.

What had happened? He thought back to what had happened before he fell in the lake. Shockwave had shot the cavern roof, he had been separated from the Autobots, then the hunk of quartz crystal had fallen and pierced his armor and...

He had blacked out. There was no file or video feed he could pull up after that.

Optimus cautiously pulled up his internal chronometer, heaving a silent sigh of relief when he found he still had one. It stated that three solar cycles had passed since Ratchet had Groundbridged them to the mine. He had been submerged in a pool of an unknown substance for about half an Earth week, and his very CNA had rewritten itself to that of what appeared to be a Predacon's? Optimus snorted in disbelief. He was just having some sort of weird dream. Or he had been hooked up to a new type of Decepticon torture software.

Right?

It certainly felt real, though. And, if it was programming, why chose this scenario? Other than his strange predicament, he didn't appear to be in any sort of danger or situation.

He ran a self-diagnostic for viruses. It came back clean.

The Prime, or Predacon, he wasn't distinguishing at the moment, began to pace, his new claws clicking over stone and mud. Optimus felt a flicker of unease float in the back of his processor, but he was drawn out of it by the glowing coming from his chestplates. He attempted to open them, but they refused to move more then a few inches. A huff of annoyance emerged from his vents. So this is what Bumblebee had felt like when MECH had stolen his T-Cog? He felt awful, exposed.

Glancing around the cave and taking a shaky guess, Optimus figured that he wasn't nearly as huge as the Predacon in the Decepticons' possession. But standing on four pedes he was probably around Megatron's height. What sounded like a snicker left his vocalizer before he scolded himself. He shouldn't be thinking childishly, not in a dire situation like this! He needed to focus. What if his team had been captured? What if Megatron had returned to the mine? There had been a purple blast that had trapped him in the cavern, and the only two mechs he knew of with that energy signature on this planet were Shockwave and his master.

Growling, Optimus shook his helm and scanned the rock walls for an exit. He had to find a way out before worrying about the condition of the others. He wouldn't be much help trapped down in the cavern anyway.

A crumbling spot on the far wall caught the Autobot's attention. Plodding over, he gently prodded at it with a claw. Optimus, unable to stop the wave of relief sweeping through him, felt his tail swish. Shivering at the odd sensation, he backed up, contemplating his escape. The easy route would be to "pull a Wheeljack", as dubbed by Ratchet, and just detonate a path. Then again, the cave system was unstable as it was and could collapse at any minute. And Primus only knew when Decepticon guards would discover the rubble and begin to search for any infiltrators. He definitely didn't need Megatron learning of his condition.

Restraining the urge to snarl, the Prime sat back on his haunches and absentmindedly rapped his talons against the floor. It took him a second to realize that he had picked up this habit from the Autobots' human friends. Optimus thought about where he would go after this situation was over. Certainly not the Decepticons. With their scientific prowess, they would be ecstatic to use him as a test subject for some bizarre and undoubtably painful experiment. But could he go back to his companions in this state? What would stop them from shooting? He didn't know if his armor was as blast-proof as the Predacon's, and he didn't exactly want to test it to find out.

Optimus shoved the thoughts aside and forced himself to try and remember the Predacon blast sequence that all of the Autobots were all too familiar with. It seemed that the thing had taken a shot at all of them at least once.

A click in his chestplates and a bright glow signaled his success. The blue radiance coming from the crater in his chest was reaching blinding as Optimus reared up. Out of the corner of his optic he saw cyan flames lick around the edge of his intake—which had become a muzzle—and surge forward, easily blasting through the weakened rock.

He had no time to celebrate as the mine began to rumble, cracks racing over stone. Optimus flung himself upwards at the opening and burst into the rainy night. No Decepticons were in sight, but that didn't stop the Autobot from sprinting off through Nevada's rocky outcroppings and boulders. If there was something in his path, the Prime just sprang and cleared it with surprising ease.

Fleeing aimlessly, Optimus didn't slow down until he was far off, mud covering his claws and rain hindering his pace. He jogged to a standstill and all but collapsed into a heap, his vents not used to such a different frame and whirring frantically to cool him down. The rain steamed on his overheated frame, and his pipes burned fiercely. The Prime reached up to feel his plated neck, gingerly prodding the metal. He was going to have to find a way to cool his internal piping before they overheated completely, resulting severe damage.

Glancing down, Optimus wrinkled his his snout. The excessive rain had been collecting in large, murky puddles, one such conveniently near his pedes. He made a small noise of disgust and bent down, cautiously taking a mouthful. Cold water rushed through his throat pipes. Optimus opened his intake and allowed the gathered steam to escape, watching it spiral lazily into the rainy night.

Optimus slowly felt his systems calming and returning to normal, giving him time to think and come up with a plan of action. It was clear the first thing he had to do was get back to base, then maybe he could somehow convince them of his identity with somebot reasonable, like Ratchet or Ultra Magnus.

Opening his mouth, Optimus tried to speak aloud only to hear a series of whines and screeches. His vents let out a stalling sigh. Unfortunately, that confirmed his suspicions of the fact that he didn't have a way of communicating.

He checked his HUD, but was once again granted an unfortunate surprise. The base's frequency had been wiped clean, leaving him with no way of returning and scarce knowledge of the area. He had no hope of finding his way back the old-fashioned way.

A shiver ran through the Prime's circuitry and he realized with the darkness and merciless storm, he should find shelter for a quick recharge. He was soaking from three solar cycles of being submerged in that pool, and his plating was gunked up with mud and organic debris. Not to mention he had already been running low on energon going into this whole thing, and whatever process had happened to his frame had drained him of even more. His search could wait and then he could find his way from...wherever he was.

Optimus shakily got to his pedes and arched his back. He swung his head, looking for shelter, but he couldn't see a few pedsteps through the storm. He padded around blindly, only able to see obscure shapes that had him on guard for Decepticons. A panicked thought flitted through his processor. The Autobots didn't know exactly how many Decepticons were on this planet, a fact that often annoyed Agent Fowler and himself to no end. For all he knew, Barricade, or even worse, Tarn, could be one of the shadows lurking about in the storm rather than pillars of rock. It wasn't the most comforting of thoughts.

Out of nowhere a hole appeared, just large enough to shelter a...beast of his size. After a skittish yelp that he denied uttering, Optimus gratefully entered, taking a deep breath of musky air. Satisfied that nobot had been there, his chest glowed again as flames lit up the cave. It heated the moist dirt as Optimus curled up on the warm patch, curling his tail over his snout before falling into a restless recharge.

* * *

**::Knock Out, where are you?::**

The medic ignored the ping, his hip joints swinging left and right in time with the music. It was an old, stupid tune, one of the last songs ever published before the war, and it had been Breakdown's absolute favorite.

His optics were offline and his helm was bobbing slightly, his focus entirely on the small shifts of his pedes and the song. Maybe if he concentrated enough, he would online his optics and find his Conjux with that big stupid grin on his faceplates, teasingly spinning Knock Out around as they danced and cleaned the medbay late in the night shift. He found himself whispering along, giving a half-sparked twirl as he deposited a fresh set of berth sheets on a medical berth.

**::Knock Out, come in. Knock Out, come in.::**

Still ignoring the request, he revved his engines lightly, continuing his chores as if he was doing them with his partner. Knock Out hadn't even noticed he had actually broke out into song until a staticky, hitched burst escaped his vocalizer, faintly mimicking the chorus. He sung along dimly and without purpose as he was commed a third time.

 **::Come in, Knock Out. Or I will come in instead.::**  He heard the medbay doors slide open and a vaguely annoyed field press against his. "This is illogical. You should be—why are you listening to that?"

Knock Out finally turned around to face Shockwave, who was standing near a berth, looking—Primus forbid, were Knock Out's optics deceiving him?—slightly uncomfortable. Or was the medic imagining it?

"Yes, I..." Knock Out paused and reset his glitching vocalizer, blinking back the cleaner fluid tears that had threatened to fall earlier. "Yes, Shockwave, did you need something?"

"Turn that off," Shockwave stated blandly, watching as Knock Out silently tapped a datapad a few times and the music stopped. The medic looked at him expectantly. "Yes?"

"I came to ask for those reports. Also, Lord Megatron has requested your presence."

"Lord Megatron? Why ever would he need me?" Knock Out asked, digging around in a pile of datapads and pulling out the ones Shockwave had requested. He didn't miss the disapproving glance the scientist sent at his lack of organization. "Be logical. You are the chief medical officer, are you not?"

"Well, yes, but still. I rarely have to do house calls, and when I do, he usually comms me." Shockwave turned his unwavering optic on Knock Out, who relented and held his servos up in defeat. He followed Shockwave out of the medbay and split off down a separate hallway, making his way to the bridge. He found Megatron with his back to him, servos clasped and rocking slightly.

"Ah, Knock Out. Thank you for coming," the warlord said, casting a glance over his shoulder plating.

"Of course, my liege. May I ask what the issue is?"

"Shockwave has informed me that you have seemed rather...distracted, since Breakdown's death." Knock Out immediately felt fear creeping along his wiring. That protoformed rat Shockwave had tattled on his insubordination, hadn't he? And now he had to pay for it.

The medic flinched when Megatron turned to fully face him, biting back a terrified squeak when on large servo rested on his shoulder, surprisingly mindful of his paintjob. "I'd like to offer my overdue condolences. Take the next solar cycle off, Knock Out. Go out for a drive, participate in one of those races you enjoy so much, get a new coat of paint, whatever. Shockwave will be informed, so you will not have to work on any projects tomorrow."

Knock Out, shocked by the rare kindness offered by the ruthless warlord, just stood there, optics wide and intake slightly agape. Megatron's vents huffed in exasperation. "Oh, quit looking at me like that. I know how it feels to lose one's...partner. Besides, we don't need you brewing and taking your frustration out on your patients."

"I...uh, um...thank you, my liege!" The medic bowed deeply, his processor buzzing. He wasn't in trouble, thank the Allspark. He hadn't thought that his mood would have been bad enough to be noticed by Megatron, though.

Shockwave had told him. He probably was ticked that Knock Out's work was being affected. Well, he certainly wouldn't complain. Primus only knew since his last off-day was. And beating the slag out of cocky organics in a street race certainly improved one's mood...

Knock Out hummed happily, ready to get away from the Nemesis, which itself held too many memories of his Conjux. Yeah, some fresh air outside the field sounded great.

In fact, he had been so excited when he all but skipped out of the bridge he missed the forlorn look on Megatron's faceplates, and the burdened gaze he sent at his faction brand, tracing over it lightly with one claw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we have our Predacon!Optimus! Tell me what y'all think! And I know a couple of you guys had some stellar ideas, don't worry! I'll incorporate them! Please be mindful that this story is somewhat prewritten, though, so some things may not quite mesh or have to be used later!
> 
> Poor baby KO, he misses his Breakdown too much. These two are too much I swear TT^TT
> 
> And Megsy...yeah...that happened ._. I just...I did say the "slight" in the tags may not be so slight...I think I have issues... OH WELL ☆〜（ゝ。∂）


	5. Flight

"Doc, calm down!"

"Calm down? _Calm down_? How can I calm down? It's like that instance with Optimus purging the Matrix all over again! You can't possibly expect me to calm down!" the medic screeched, waving his arms frantically as Wheeljack of all mechs tried to contain his sudden outburst. "It has been three solar cycles! Optimus has been gone for three. Fragging. Solar cycles! I can't...I just... _argh_!"

The Wrecker, with Arcee's assistance, was finally able to calm Ratchet down enough to sit on the medical berth kept in the control room for emergencies. Wheeljack awkwardly patted his shoulder in a failed attempt to comfort him, but quickly backpedaled when the medic snapped at him. "Get away!"

"Ratchet, I need you to calm down. We're all doing our best to find Optimus, and you're going above and beyond. But we need you, Optimus needs you, to pull yourself together,"Arcee said, her voice soft as she edged closer to the distressed mech.

"How? How could I let this happen again? No, don't you dare try to tell me otherwise! This is a repeat of the Orion incident, only now Optimus could actually be offline! And I swore we wouldn't have a repeat, but look where we are!" Ratchet ended off with a distressed keen and buried his faceplates in his servos.

"Ratchet...look," Jack stated tentatively from down by Arcee's pede. He flinched when the medic turned his slightly murderous gaze on him, but pressed on. "You said it yourself yesterday. We may not be able to track it, but his life signal is still online. He's probably just stuck back at that mine, right?"

"Yes, but the Decepticons returned after Shockwave cleared us out. Fat chance we'll be able to get back there anytime soon, unless you've got a better idea," Ratchet snarled, his vocalizer dripping with rage.

"I doubt he does, unless he's got some crazy genius plan tucked away up in his brain, but we've gotta have faith in the boss bot! We'll be able to get to him, Ratch, I promise!" Miko peeped up from Bulkhead's shoulder, sending the medic a thumbs up.

Ratchet snorted. "What, do you want me to send in a suicide mission? What good'll it do Optimus if we're all dead and snuffed while he could be crushed under rubble or trapped deep underground? Or worse, he could've been captured and taken aboard the Nemesis, and then we'd really be fragged, 'cause we would've wasted our lives for scrap."

"Pessimistic, much?" Smokescreen muttered, shrinking behind Ultra Magnus at the look Ratchet shot at him. "Just sayin'."

The Magnus stepped away from Smokescreen, clearly displeased at being used as a shield. "We will come up with a plan, Ratchet. You have my word. Until then, we will send out scouting missions and try to tap Decepticon transmissions to see if there is any chatter about Prime being captured. Until we get a lock on his position or situation, we cannot afford to act upon a rescue mission."

Ratchet growled, turning away from the expectant stares focused on him and opening a tracking program on one of the computers. "Whatever, but I'm only giving you few more solar cycles. Optimus should have enough energon in his tanks to last that long, if he is still trapped."

"Understood. And, Ratchet?"

"What?" the medic snapped, turning around to glare at Ultra Magnus. He felt the general's field reach out and brush against his own, trying to be uncharacteristically comforting.

"Do not overwork yourself. You will be no help to Optimus if you are offline because you are too distracted to take care of yourself."

"I'll decide when that time comes," Ratchet grumbled, facing the console once more before mumbling, "However, thank you for you concern."

"Of course." Ultra Magnus' presence faded and Ratchet heaved a sigh. None of them understood how bad it would be of Optimus was captured once more by Megatron, especially if he was in a weakened and energon-deprived state. Primus, just the thought...

He shivered, typing entries rapidly into the console as his determination to find Optimus increased. Ratchet would do anything to keep his old friend out of the warlord's clutches once more.

* * *

Optimus onlined his optics and stretched his neck, his frame threatening to fall back into recharge if he did not move.

Pushing himself to his pedes, he shook himself roughly, feeling metal plates whirl and spin into place. He leaned downwards, as if bowing to an invisible deity, cables hissing and popping as they reset themselves, straining slightly from the movement. Optimus shook his arms, recalling Miko's human term for the awkward sensation flooding them.

 _Pins and needles_ , he mused, shaking himself again to rid himself of the unpleasant feeling. Edging out into the sun, the Prime shuttered his optics against the harsh glow. Despite the muddy ground and slop coating his claws, the yellow star glowed cheerfully in the cloudless sky, as if mocking him from its place above.

Optimus huffed grumpily as he looked down at his chestplates. It appeared he had not been dreaming after all; he was still stuck in this Predacon-like form, most likely for an unforeseeable amount of time. He swore out of frustration, though the words came out as a screech.

With his vents sighing, Optimus began to examine the overlapping, scale-like plates covering his frame, picking pebbles out of a few transformation seams. It gave him some hope, seeing as there was actual evidence of another alt mode, but the Prime squashed his hopes. He had heard rumors circulating about the Decepticon's Predacon having a bipedal mode, but he had yet to see it with his own optics.

However, if there was even a slim chance of transforming, then Optimus decided that he was going to have to find a way to clean off all the grime that had gotten under his plating, lest it hinder such a process. He cast an accusatory glance at the muck covering the ground and was suddenly gripped by the urge to throw himself down in the stuff like a sparkling. He cast the foolish thought aside, wondering what had gotten into his processor as of late. He usually had better control over his emotions.

Assessing his situation, Optimus turned around in a full circle, beams of sunlight catching his plating and shining off rocks, mud squelching under his servos. He glanced back at the indent in the rock he had spent the night in, finding that it was one of the many rock pillars around Nevada. It's unusually tall height gave Optimus an idea.

Not liking his plan whatsoever, the Prime made his way to the pillar and dug his claws into its surface, figuring he'd scope the area once reaching the top. He began to tediously heave himself upwards, some servoholds barely big enough to hold a minibot's weight, let alone that of a huge Cybertronian predator of old. By the time Optimus made it to the top of the rock pillar, the strain was apparent in his frame, and he all but collapsed in a heap as his vents roared and sputtered, trying to stave off some of the humid and suffocating heat washing over him as the sun rose higher in the sky.

Using only his back pedes, Optimus scrabbled forward onto the small platform, growling in annoyance. Last he checked, the Predacon had wings. That would make this whole process _much_ easier.

A gust of wind caught the Autobot off guard and showed that he indeed, in fact, possessed wings. The leather-like sails blew open majestically, hues of beetle blue and ruby glinting in the sunlight, connected by spindly yet sturdy silver calipers and cables. He took a moment to marvel at them before turning his gaze out across the desert. All he saw was mud and stone, no landmarks pointing him back the way he came.

A sudden, unexplainable feeling rushed through him, similar to when the Omega Keys were lost, and even though Optimus couldn't use his voice box, a stream of extremely foul and vulgar swears raged through his processor. He settled for a furious roar, letting all the cooped-up anger, confusion, and even fear escape in that long, loud noise.

Gnashing his teeth together, Optimus paced the edge of the pillar. _If_ , and that was a big _if_ , as he was a natural grounder, he was somehow be able to fly, he would never be able to find the mine after his haphazard and obscured path away from it he had taken the night before.

Taking a few calming vents, Optimus sat down heavily, frustration slowly seeping out of his frame as he began to ponder. The mud and debris in his plating, which had become increasingly sensitive, was beginning to agitate him to no end. It also seemed that the grime covering his wings would most definitely need to be attended to, as it felt as though thousands of new nerve endings had been integrated there. He felt a twinge of pity for Starscream, wondering if this was how receptive Seeker wings were. If so, then every time the second-in-command so much as bumped them, he must have been in agony.

His tanks rumbled unexpectedly, making him almost jump off the ledge. He had to attend to that as well. With it in processor, Optimus decided he would try his luck with finding the mine in hopes of discovering energon, and maybe wash off along the way. What kind of energon to consume was the real question, though. Raw, processed, the mysterious crystals back at the mine, something else, Optimus had no idea. Honestly, at this point he was ready to try anything, including organic food. With this new form, he might even be able to sustain himself on such. Anything was possible.

First things first, Optimus would have to find a way to get down from his perch. Looking directly over the edge was a huge mistake, as the sight of the ground so far below him made his tanks clench on themselves. Going back the way he came was not an option.

Slowly, Optimus glanced at the wings pressed to his sides. Another memory of an Earth custom flooded his CPU as he snapped the large appendages open. How had the children put it? You only live once? Taking a huge cycle of air, Optimus approached the edge and jumped.

Flying with wings was _completely_  different than the jetpack contraption he was used to. Actually, Optimus guessed a more accurate statement was falling with wings. The wind rushed past his bulky frame, tearing at his legs and tail, trying to flip him over and wreck any hope at a stable flight pattern. _How does anybot do this on a regular basis?_

An alarmed screech erupted from his vocalizer as the ground rushed up to meet him, waiting patiently to inflict what was most likely fatal damage. In a desperate attempt to avoid going offline, Optimus threw out his wings and shuttered his optics shut as he braced himself for impact, sending a few prayers to Primus.

At what seemed like was the last nanoklik, the wind caught his wings with the force of Vehicons slamming into them at full speed, nearly tearing them out of their sockets. The Prime gagged as the pain sliced through his shoulder struts, his optics snapping online in surprise. He glanced down at his claws, discomfort forgotten, watching in fascination as they ghosted above the ground. He then regretted the sudden action as his frame threatened to pitch forward and send him into the mud.

 _Everything follows the helm. It directs the weight if your frame._  He dimly remembered someone telling him such, most likely after a sparring match, and used the knowledge to redirect his body. Optimus carefully pumped his wings, a strange and foreign elation in his spark as he gained altitude, flying under the morning sun.

* * *

Megatron knew he wasn't a very patient mech. What with him being a miner, a gladiator, and the self-made leader of a somewhat questionable cause, it just wasn't always in his coding. In fact, it was absent more often than not. So this was why he was more than just a little angry when Shockwave told him that he still had not made any process on their discovery.

"How long do you need, Shockwave? The Autobots aren't going to just up and offline!" Megatron roared, slamming his fist onto one of the emptier tables in Shockwave's lab.

"My liege, you cannot rush things like this. This is like with the synthetic energon—"

"Yes, and you had two highly capable scientists under your command then. I know!"

"I wouldn't exactly call the Autobot medic as such, he was much too stubborn," Shockwave stated, taking a cleaning rag from his subspace and mopping up some sort of fluid that had been knocked from a cup by Megatron's servo. "However, if Knock Out would just be more attentive in his duties..."

"I gave him the solar cycle off to improve that, and you know it. Haven't you ever lost a close one?" Megatron asked, folding his arms over his chestplates. The scientist cocked his helm, his optic gleaming strangely. "No. I do not get attached. It is illogical of one of my profession to do so. I do not understand Knock Out's malfunction."

The warlord felt his vents exhale heavily, and he rubbed the back of his helm. "Of course you don't."

Shockwave shrugged. "I am attached to the cause, my liege. Isn't that sufficient?"

"Yes, yes." He waved his servo dismissively. "Can I at least get a status update and an estimation of when I should return to see the results?"

A datapacket popped up on Shockwave's commlink, Megatron nodding gratefully. "Thank you, Shockwave. I'll leave you to it, then."

"My liege." Shockwave escorted him to the door, giving him a small bow as the entryway slid shut. Megatron groaned once the scientist was out of sight, his shoulder plates slumping. Why was it so Primus-damned difficult to get things done in a timely manner around this ship?

Stomping down the hallway, the warlord copied the datapacket and forwarded it to Soundwave for inspection. He got an affirmative ping from the spymaster just a cycle or two later.

He passed by two Vehicons cleaning the halls on his way to his personal chambers, acknowledging their hasty salutes with a nod. The ship was surprisingly quiet for this time in the solar cycle, leaving Megatron to wonder if Starscream was up to his old tricks. However, a quick peek in the mess hall revealed he was surprisingly not, instead seated with a gaggle of Eradicons and laughing pleasantly at a joke he'd just cracked. It reminded Megatron of how the Seeker was before the war; the loyal, easygoing, cheery Prince of Vos. The familiar ache of wanting the war to end pulled at his spark as he finally made it to his chambers, the doors sliding open instantly.

Megatron made a beeline for his berth, deciding to catch a megacycle or two of recharge. He alerted Soundwave, telling him that he was to be woken if needed, and settled down, his arms behind his helm and frame stretched out and relaxed. Or as relaxed as he could be with the Pre-War ache growing into a dull throbbing, plaguing his processor. Of course he still wanted his original goal, but he also yearned for the life he knew before the cusp of the tension. A loyal and amusing Seeker that didn't grind on his nerves. A spymaster who was yet to be a spy, and was rather a good friend and impressive opponent in the gladiatorial ring. A cute and charming archivist, always by his side like a lost cyberpuppy.

The warlord felt his frame shiver at the last thought, his processor dredging up memories he'd long-since buried. Him and Orion, pouring over ancient texts late in the night, the younger mech occasionally helping the older whenever he got stuck on an incomprehensible preamble or foolish sprawl of unknown glyphs. Him and Orion, laughing as they made their way down the halls of Iacon on one of Megatron's rare visits. Orion on his shoulder struts after one of Megatron's greatest victories in the ring, holding on for dear life as the gladiator boisterously carried him through crowds of fans and soon-to-be-followers on their way to a bar. The huge smile on Orion's faceplates, slightly overcharged on energon, leaning against Megatron's arm as he escorted the young archivist home. The way Megatron's spark had fluttered when Orion had asked him, rather sheepishly and faceplates flushed brightly, if Megatron had maybe been interested in a little more than just courting. The way Orion had the dopiest grin on his face when Megatron said yes, and all but attacked him with the biggest hug he'd been able to.

Megatron growled and tried to push the memories away, only for more recent ones to take their place. The precious do-over Primus had given him when Optimus gave up the Matrix. The way Orion's expressions changed Optimus' face, softened him by vorns, the way he'd trusted him so purely once more. He'd never seen Optimus Prime smile as big as he had when Orion Pax had became part of the family aboard the Nemesis. He wanted this war to end.

He wanted his Orion back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What am I doing here? No seriously somebody tell me. Help, I'm stuck in gay robot hell and I don't think I want to leave ヽ(；▽；)ノ
> 
> Ratchet's beginning the freak-outs. Ultra Magnus still can't deal with Smokie and he'll never be able to muahahahahaha. And Knock Out is on short hiatus
> 
> Megs has issues. Wait 'til you see Op's (((o(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)o))) I should probably change my tags but oh well these two are so precious asijloshucojnsdkcnskjnefvoj. We will deal with surprises in the next chapter


	6. Capture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh, sorry this is so late (⌒-⌒; ) I had a championship swim meet over the weekend and was exhausted afterwards, so had to pump this out over the course of...a few separate days, I believe.
> 
> Yup, so this isn't the longest chapter, sorry, but stuff happens! Yay! Hope you enjoy!

The sun was setting and Optimus still hadn't been able to make his way back to the mine, his tanks empty and rumbling. The euphoria of flight had long since left him and had been replaced by irritation bordering on frustration. The Prime had tried searching for his tracks, but the rain had softened the muddy ground, effectively covering any trace. In fact, dark clouds were beginning to roll in, the ozone-thick air bringing the promise of another storm.

Optimus growled, circling an outcropping of rocks before sloppily landing under them with a loud, squelching _thump_. Mud flew up from his pedes, his helm gained too much momentum, and he toppled forward, muzzle-first into slop.

His field spiked in anger and shame as he picked himself up off the ground. Stretching his sore neck, Optimus ran a quick scan, checking to make sure he had not damaged his already cramped cables in his atrocious landing. He felt too stiff to lie down and rest, despite the exhausted ache in his wings, and began walking, allowing his processor to wander. He _thought_  he was close to the mine, but truthfully, the desert looked so bland and plain he could easily be mistaken.

Before he could brood any further, he felt a servo slip in the slick mud and then he was falling again, this time down a rocky slope, stones and dirt getting lodged painfully under his plating. Rolling to a stop, Optimus groaned and pushed himself up into a sitting position, though he looked more like a cyberdog awaiting its master with his servos next to his bulky pedes, his tail curled protectively over stinging talons and torn protoform. He flared his wings slightly, stretching them cautiously as he checked to make sure they hadn't been ripped or otherwise harmed. Besides hurting like the Pit, they were intact.

Optimus gingerly reached up with his clawed servo, tentatively rubbing his sore helm. To his surprise, he found the structure of it had stayed relatively the same, his long antennae twitching in annoyance as they collected sensory data, tiny and sharp plating now adorning the covering of his audio receptors. However, the antennae had thickened somewhat into what Optimus figured must resemble horns, and spines jutted out from behind the grate on his forehelm. Glancing at a brown puddle gathering in between two rocks, he shuttered his optics and traced the blue metal down to where it stopped at his cheekplates, dimly wondering if he could still activate his battlemask. Most likely not, as it would be pragmatic with a muzzle jutting out of his faceplates.

Optimus pushed himself to his stabilizers, shaking as he hobbled forward. His stride eventually grew stronger as he continued to walk, his audio receptors picking up a far away whirring.

 _Drills!_  The thought raced across his processor so fast the Prime was nervous that he'd glitch, and he followed the sound, finally finding himself back at the mine. A victorious trill began left his vocalizer, though it died before leaving his intake and he frowned at the guards. There were so many, at least triple the amount from last time. They were on high alert, blasters ionized and swinging in cautious arcs, miners working stiffly behind them. Slinking closer, Optimus searched for a way inside. Of course, he could just wait until the night cycle and sneak inside when there were less guards, but the rumbling in his tanks argued otherwise. The amount of energon needed to power this frame was significant, and he might not even have a whole megacycle before he went into stasis lock.

However, an all-too-familiar voice began shrieking, creating a distraction Optimus hoped he could use to his advantage. As Starscream flailed his limbs wildly, stomping his pedes and throwing a tantrum that could put even the crankiest of sparklings to shame, the Prime slipped from his cover, hiding behind a drill and hugging the outer walls of the mine. He felt like one of those human intelligence officers in the spy movies the younger members of his team were so fond of. Often, too often, Optimus caught Smokescreen and Bumblebee sneaking around the military compound during a routine perimeter check, the former doing a terrible imitation of some famous "spy theme", as he'd been told, and the latter pantomiming a blaster with his servos, the two both fiddling with uncomfortable-looking bows made of scrap metal they had fastened to their necks. Frankly, and Ratchet agreed with him on this, he thought the two just went a little _too_  stir-crazy when left without missions to complete.

There was one last stretch between Optimus and the entrance of the mine, and when Starscream called over all personnel to give a high-pitched lecture on their failures, the Prime bolted out from behind a drill and slid to a stop, now safely in the mine and out of sight. It must have been a refueling break, because there weren't any Vehicons or miners in sight. Ex-vents sighing in relief, Optimus spotted a mine cart piled high with real energon. It seemed there were a few pure veins of it there, after all.

He picked up a chunk of energon in his talons, turning it over and inspecting it as his tanks ached desperately. It wasn't refined, but in this form, maybe he could just...

Carefully, Optimus set the energon between his denta, which had become fangs, and bit down. None of the warnings that would normally pop up in his HUD if he had tried such a thing as a mech flashed across his optics. He swallowed. It tasted just as it should, but was consumed like energon candies. His engines purred happily. He might be a stoic Prime, but he had always had a soft spot for sweets, even after gaining the Matrix. They had been hard to come by after Cybertron went dark, and filled him with pangs of nostalgia as he began on the energon in the cart, sending a quick thanks to Primus that he could consume it raw and unprocessed without complications.

Optimus had made a pretty big dent in the energon when he heard echoes bouncing of mine walls, rapidly approaching. A hiss escaped the Prime and he looked around wildly. He could try hiding in one of the subtunnels, but then, there could be other 'Cons down there, what with the faint drilling coming from deeper in the mine. Optimus swore, turning his attention upwards. Thick support beams ran overhelm, looking as though they could hold his weight.

The approaching mechs drew closer, Optimus feeling his spark hitch when he picked up on Megatron's deep snarl and violent EM field. The Prime ran under the nearest beam and jumped, wings flapping wildly and uselessly as he reached for the metal support. His talons finally found purchase and he flung his weight outward and upward, landing on the beam with a heavy crash. He pulled his tail up just as Megatron appeared below him, the warframe oblivious to the presence of his enemy. Unfortunately, Optimus wasn't, and cursed again at how close the two were, drawing his field in and quieting his vents. If he wanted to, which he definitely didn't, he could lean down and poke Megatron in the back of the helm.

As quietly as a two ton mechanical dragon could, Optimus reached for a support beam a little off to his left and hoisted himself onto it, putting more space between himself and Megatron, who had been joined by his huffy second and Shockwave.

The warframe beneath him scanned the mine, Optimus watching as his servos clenched slightly when he saw the remains of the collapsed tunnel, which had been cleared out and reopened. He stepped forward as if to investigate, his pede coming down on something with a sharp crack.

Megatron's subvocalizer made a curious hum as he stooped down, a few shards of energon resting in his palm. "Do another sweep for survivors. Decepticon, or Autobot."

He glared at Starscream, who had opened his intake to most likely state that the area had already been searched, but wisely shut it. "You heard our lord. Spread out!"

Optimus shifted in his uncomfortable crouching position, trying to dislodge the rock jammed against his hip joint. He forwent moving when he heard Shockwave speak below him.

"Are you sure, my liege? There appears to be no other detectable life signals." He sweeped the device in his servo to emphasize his point, but then it suddenly began to beep quietly.

Optimus could practically feel Megatron's dubious gaze as he plucked the device from Shockwave, tapping the screen a few times. The Prime heard a Vehicon below him mumble something—"Maybe it's that Onix he was going after?"—and several snickers, though they abruptly stopped with a glare from Megatron.

Optimus found he didn't understand the joke, but curiosity was overpowered by anxiety. He glanced down at the glowing indent in his chestplates, worried its glow would give him away. He scanned his processor for a way to shut it off. Finally finding the line of code he needed, his chestplates closing over the glow with a soft _shink_. His faction badge stood in proud relief over his spark chamber, looking slightly more...primal—yes, that was it—than it should. Optimus allowed himself a tiny smile at the small change and glanced up, swinging himself onto a different support beam to get farther from Megatron and the scanner.

The warlord handed Shockwave the device, watching as the scientist plugged in various queries. "Autobot, or Decepticon?"

"My liege...I do not know..." The words came out uncharacteristically small, and for a second, Optimus almost believed Shockwave felt disappointed. Him not knowing something must not happen very often, because more murmuring rose from the gathered Vehicons.

Megatron growled at them dangerously and rested a servo on Shockwave's shoulder struts. "What do you mean?"

"As...illogical, as it is, the signal appears to have not set allegiance. Rather, it seems to be some sort of fluctuating mixture, like how the Predacon is from both its own subspecies and our cause." Shockwave raised the scanner in his servo, doing another sweep.

"So, what you're saying is that the Autobots happened to get a new pet of some sort?" Starscream asked snarkily, doubt painting his voice. "Ridiculous."

Ignoring the Seeker, Shockwave continued. "Apparently, this life signal belongs to an Autobot. As for the other faction...that is odd. It says it is also a Predacon. Strange."

Starscream stood agape as Shockwave gave a little smack to the scanner. "Do you mean to say that a Predacon, belonging to the Autobots, is roaming around down here? That's absurd."

"Illogical, what with their disdain for the vast majority of beastformers, but not absurd." Shockwave pinned Starscream with his single optic. "It could also be a glitch. That would be the most logical conclusion, and perhaps the actual cause of this anomaly."

Starscream raised an orbital ridge. "This is insanity."

"Shut it, you fool. However, this type of energon seems to hold a similar genetic make-up to our Predacon asset. If an Autobot was infused with it..." Megatron trailed of mid-sentence as a few pebbles pinged off his helm. Optimus, in the middle of scrambling onto another beam, stopped dead. _Scrap_.

Megatron cast a glance at Shockwave. Both mechs raised their arms and shot at the ceiling.

With a yowl of dismay, Optimus fell and crashed onto the hard ground. Decepticons quickly moved out of his path as the dragon slammed onto his back. Grunting, he somehow made it back to his stabilizers before sprinting to the now-clear exit, whizzing by the startled mechs.

Bursting out into the sunlight, Optimus didn't see the massive shape in his path until it was too late. Slamming head-on into the unknown object, he slumped down to the ground, rubbing his helm and making angry clicks and whirs. He was surprised to hear a deep yet calm voice ask, "Are you alright?"

Optimus nodded without thinking, simplistic vocalizer humming apologetically. The voice gasped suddenly, awestruck. "Another Predacon?"

At this Optimus quickly onlined his optics. A huge mech, at least Megatron's size, if not Barricade's, stood over him, his thick armor glinting black and orange under the sun. The Predacon, the actual, honest-to-Primus, _Predacon_  was wide-opticked and slack-jawed, a servo half-held out to Optimus to help him to his pedes.

He guessed that confirmed the rumor about it having a bipedal mode.

Finally regaining their senses, the two backpedaled away from each other, optics shuddering rapidly. Optimus was still focused on the Predacon when he heard a cruel laugh slice through the air.

"My, my, when we figured out that an Autobot had come into contact with our Pred-En, I never would have guessed it was you." Megatron smirked viciously. The Prime was suddenly tempted to make several rude gestures, self-control slipping. He'd had a slagging bad day, had some how against the laws of comprehensible cybernetics been turned into a Predacon, had no way of communicating to his team, or even anybot, for that matter, and Megatron had the audacity to sound so fragging _smug_ —

"Optimus Prime. What a surprise," his vocalizer purred out his designation innocently, as if it deserved to, spreading his servos before yelling, "Grab him!"

The Prime tried to get up, but something much bigger pinned him down. He struggled under the Predacon's weight, trying without avail to escape. He looked up into its golden optics pleadingly, but a sharp pain under his arm plating told him he was too late.

With a feeble roar, Optimus attempted escape once more, to get as far away as possible, but Shockwave must have uplinked an override code into his hardware, because his systems were beginning to crash. With one last weak shove, Optimus mewled quietly and limply shrunk to the ground, visual feed going dark panel by panel, trembling as he went into forced medical stasis. The last thing he saw was Megatron's triumphant expression and Starscream peeking out from beside him, looking disgusted and vaguely frightened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think Predaking gets kinda gentalbot-ly after gaining a bipedal form, at least to the Vehicons and Eradicons, if just to spite Screamer. They're chill with it 'cause they miss Breakdown. 
> 
> Shockwave really wants to know where the in the hell he can get a Dratini. Not like he knows what that is or anything.
> 
> And the name is Bee. Bumblebee. I feel like Optimus would literally be like wtf are you two doing with your off-time when they tried to explain James Bond to them. They probably also have a huge thing for Indiana Jones, tbh.
> 
> ...I had too much fun finishing this chapter


	7. Proposal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhhh thank you all for your support and awesome comments!!! Here we are, breaking the 15,000 word mark with this update! 
> 
> So a lot of you wanted to see Predaking and Op interact, and don't worry, it's on the way! But as a heads up, as the next few chapters ARE prewritten, I have another swim thing this weekend, not to mention when we get back I'll have to start a new cosplay for a convention coming up, and it's something totally new and I kinda don't know how I'll pull it off, so updates may slow down to one every couple of days to a week, sorry for the inconvenience!

Shockwave knew what others called him behind his back struts. He knew how they whispered and pointed, how their fields shrunk in fear, how their multiple optics would narrow in confusion and suspicion at his one. He knew of their stories and how they differed from his, and how they found him cold and emotionless. He knew he did not care.

But now...now his spark shivered in the closest thing he had felt to excitement in vorns as the limp frame of Optimus Prime was slung over his creation's shoulder plating, the pair making their way down the halls of the Nemesis towards Shockwave's lab. Officers and drones alike stopped in their work, pressing themselves to the walls and muttering. News of such an event would spread like fire, and Shockwave was grateful for his questionable reputation. Nobot would be barging in on him and getting under his plating while he worked on his _experiment_. He was as giddy as giddy could be...if one ignored the fact that meant he was only quivering ever so slightly.

Behind him, Predaking cleared his throat tubing. Shockwave had thought the self-proclaimed designation had been rather cocky and full-of-himself, but had permitted it to see what logic would apply to his creation's new form. The designation seemingly fit well enough, and it was a joy to see Starscream wriggling in discomfort at the mere thought of the Predacon being sentient enough for a name, especially one that claimed nobility. It did not, however, mean Shockwave was happy, if he could use the term, that Predaking had discarded the designations the scientist had prepared for him, just in case "the Predacon" became impractical.

Predaking made the noise again, jarring Shockwave from a train of thought that had been leading down quite the interesting path. "Yes?"

The Predacon wriggled uncomfortably, shifting Prime's weight so his neck was slung across his chestplates like one of those silly human...scarves. Yes, scarves. His helm was resting against one of Predaking's shoulder spikes. "Um, creator, what will you be doing with...him?"

They reached Shockwave's lab, the mech typing in the access code and stepping aside so Predaking could carry the prisoner inside. "Running tests. Small scale experiments. Lord Megatron has made it _very_  clear we not harm him in any significant way, however. No cortical physic patch either. What a shame."

A visible amount of tension escaped Predaking's frame. Odd. Was he...concerned? That was illogical. Prime was an enemy. But with the fluctuations in his field, Shockwave decided not to say anything. His creation was probably just content to have a similar frame type on board. Though there would be more shortly. It was only a matter of time until Shockwave finished his new batch of clones.

"There should be a clean cell behind you. He can stay in there for now." Shockwave turned to a console and began to pull up a new file, only to stop when he heard Predaking's hesitation. With the closest tone to annoyance he could muster, he asked, "Is there something wrong?"

"...No, nothing. It's just...don't you think he would be more comfortable above decks in the hanger bay? There is more space up there, not to mention I will be there in case he awakes disoriented or—"

"Already trying to find a bondmate?" Shockwave asked, intent teasing but words coming out monotone. "That is illogical, what with Lord Megatron and Prime's past history together."

"No! Of course not!" His field bristled angrily. "But I would know about proper habisuites! Cells are cramped, you can't stretch out, they leak something awf—" Predaking's rant stopped short when Shockwave's optic trained on him. "Sorry, creator."

"Your reasoning, in theory, is logical. In reality, it is not. Prime is a prisoner. He must be in a cell so he cannot escape." Predaking slumped in defeat, gently setting the stasis-locked Prime in the cell. The large mech had a look of harsh concentration on his faceplates as he leaned down and patted Prime's helm in what must have been a reassuring manner. Shockwave wouldn't know, and could only assume.

Backing away from the cell, the Predacon watched as red energon bars sparked to life, his denta chewing at his bottom lip. "He's so...small. When I have faced the Prime in battle, he was much larger. And held a more commanding field."

"You do not see him as such in his current state?" Shockwave inquired, suddenly curious. Was he about to see Predacon social dynamics in action? Should he take notes?

"No. I see him as confused, lost. Tiny, in body and spirit. His mass and molecular makeup may be the same, but he has lost some of his presence. He carries himself with underlying fear, without fully realizing it. His confidence has wavered."

"Logical. But, all Primes were trained against showing their emotions in the event they could be used against them. Are you saying he isn't?" Shockwave was riveted. "Is he reverting to a pre-Prime state?"

Predaking shrugged, servos spread in a "what-can-you-do" manner. "I do not know anything of your Primes. But if he is supposed to stay level-headed and stoic, he is definitely slipping."

"Interesting. Thank you, Predaking. Now if you will excuse me," Shockwave leaned over to snatch a blank datapad, his servo already reaching to activate his comm link. "I need to have a talk with Lord Megatron."

* * *

Pain bristled through his plating and his HUD prickled, like he had failed to recharge and have a proper defrag. The first thought in his processor was _ow_.

He kept his optics offline as his sensory input began to reboot itself. He was somewhere with a faint chill, cold air swirling over his frame. He heard the crackle of energy as it ricocheted back in positive and negative loops and felt a heavy weight around his neck.

Optimus groggily pushed himself to his pedes, his plating spinning back into the correct places as he shook himself like a wet cyberdog. He onlined his optics, shuttering them rapidly to adjust to the darkness he was in.

He was in a dimly lit space, the lamps on the ceiling casting a soft red light over shadowy walls. He realized there were energon bars blocking his view of the multitude of computer modules scattered about the room, each one flashing with pages upon pages of data. He edged closer to the bars, peeking to his right and seeing an examination table littered with tools of various sizes, many of which had been illegal back on Cybertron. A half consumed cube of energon had been left, forgotten, next to the grisly remains of some poor disfigured Eradicon. Optimus shuddered and averted his gaze.

"Welcome back to the land of the online," the unmistakable voice of Shockwave droned, his monotone making the phrase sound sarcastic as the large mech stepped into the Prime's line of sight. Optimus growled and backed away, finials flattening against his helm. The sensation was quite odd.

"Hmm, feels provoked by my presence. Emotion of levels unseen for a very long time," the scientist muttered, taking out a datapad from his subspace and tapping it a few times. He then raised his single optic to gaze at Optimus. "Your hostility is quite illogical. The Decepticon cause may be your only chance at reverting back to your previous self."

The Prime huffed his vents angrily, not unlike a frustrated sparkling, and sat back on his haunches. He glared at Shockwave until he left, only to return a few moments later, the half-full energon cube from near the Eradicon's corpse clutched in one servo, a large unrefined sample in the other. He stooped down and tossed it into the cell. "From my creation's preferences, I understand you can consume energon without it having to be processed. I will be watching, and you will be required to refuel your tanks."

He pulled up a small stool from under one of the smaller tables scattered about the room and sat, swirling the energon in his cube but not consuming it. Giving the scientist a skeptical look, Optimus picked up the energon between two claws, looking it over quickly for any abnormalities. He found nothing and took a cautious bite. It tasted normal, and his auto-scan couldn't pick up any drugs or narcotics injected. It was safe.

He finished the crystal in nanokliks, glancing up at Shockwave, who had watched the whole time. A crackle of fear raced down his spinal struts, making him shiver. He couldn't feel the scientists field, much less have any indication of what he was thinking. It was rather unnerving.

Satisfied, Shockwave reached for his helm and opened a comm link. It wasn't difficult to deduce who he was talking to.

Ending the link, Shockwave stood, curtly stating, "Lord Megatron will be here soon."

Optimus slunk to the back corner of his cell once Shockwave turned away, the large mech settling at one of his many consoles and starting up a page of notes. The Prime felt the hinges of his façade slipping, stony mask of self-control slowly shattering and... _him_  pushing through, who would not stand a chance in his situation. Slag this whole mess.

Before he could spiral down into the Pit and start a cycle of self-contempt, the door slid open and Megatron entered. The warframe scanned the laboratory, his optics landing finally on Optimus. He couldn't say for certain if anger was the only thing that caused his spark to sputter.

Keeping optic-contact with Optimus, Megatron called over to Shockwave. "Leave us."

"Yes, my liege." The scientist gave a small bow and picked up a few datapads before exiting the lab, the door hissing shut menacingly. As foolish as it sounded, Optimus wished Shockwave would stay. At least he wouldn't have to face his long-time enemy alone and in an unfamiliar frame.

"Well, well, well..." The warlord drawled. His subvocalizer made a _tsk tsk_  noise. "Why, who do we have here?"

Optimus couldn't help it. He rolled his optics, huffing. For a second, he thought his flippant manner with Megatron would get him a good beating, but the warlord merely smirked, leaning against the closest desk. He idly rolled a stylus back and forth on the lacquered metal. "I'm glad to see that you are the same as ever, Optimus," He straightened and bent forward, almost close enough for the Prime to feel his heavy vents. "Now, what to do with you..."

Optimus snarled and was surprised to find that it made Megatron take a small step back, but then he laughed and stated, "If anything, you're reverting back to Orion Pax, my old friend!"

The Prime made a questioning click in his subvocalizer, to which Megatron gave a small smile. Was Optimus being hopeful, or was there actually a hint of true friendliness in it?

"Your demeanor, Optimus. We have only been interacting for a few kliks, yet you've shown me more sass than that one time in Polyhex!"

The Autobot's vents gave a protestant huff, causing Megatron to chuckle. "To add to my point. But antagonizing you is not why I came."

He crouched near the energon bars, beckoning for Optimus to come closer. Despite his systems screaming at him to keep distance from his enemy, he scooted out of the corner, but came no further. Megatron's field seemed to flinch but it was gone as quickly as it came, the warlord covering it up by stating, "I would like to propose a truce."

Optimus cocked his helm, shuffling closer only for something to crackle against his plating. He glanced down at the red cuffs on his wrist and ankle joints, glowing pointedly.

Megatron ex-vented slowly and stood. "You would be used as a test subject of the so-called Pred-En discovered on this planet. In return for your _cooperation_ , you will not be harmed and treated more as a guest than a prisoner. If you are able to behave, we will cure you."

Optimus shuttered his optics and pointed at Megatron's faction badge, orbital ridge creeping upwards. "I am not deceiving you. Wouldn't you like to return to your team?"

He thought about those he'd left, analyzing how they would handle this kind of situation. Arcee, Ulta Magnus, and Ratchet wouldn't trust Megatron with slag, but the younger members...if they thought it could be benefitted from, they would cooperate. Especially with all the inside information that could be gained.

And Megatron...a part of Optimus wanted to trust him _so badly_. To seek good in the spark he had nearly bonded with so long ago. To be able to be near that frame once more without a stellar hurricane of emotions slamming his processor. Maybe agreeing could help repair the rift. It may have been wishful thinking, but nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Optimus looked up at the warlord, nodding after his brief hesitation. He shuffled his pedes and stared at the ground as not to see the look on Megatron's faceplates. He didn't want to know what the warlord was thinking.

The stasis cuffs on his arms and legs unlocked, clattering to the ground. He didn't have time to dwell on their unique Decepticon design—they were nothing like Optimus had ever seen—as the prison bars faded, leaving his path free save the giant ex-gladiator in front of him.

He cautiously stepped out into the lab, Megatron grabbing something and stooping down to Optimus' level. A circular band was in his servo, dim red lines pulsing along its edge. The warframe snapped it into place on the Prime's arm, patting the plating when he tried to pull away. "Just to insure you won't escape. I can guarantee that the consequences will be most unpleasant if you try."

Megatron approached the doors, stepping through and glancing over his shoulder plating. "Well?"

Optimus pointed a claw at his chest.

"Yes, you."

He trotted up next to the warlord, field taut with uncertainty. He curiously glanced around the halls, plating drawing in close before relaxing. He was easily small enough to fit through them, thank Primus.

Megatron led Optimus through the Nemesis, up to the top deck. Their path was surprisingly barren; no soldiers in sight.

They arrived outside a door that most likely led to the bridge, the warlord motioning for Optimus to stay put. He then entered, leaving Optimus on the other side, waiting for his verdict.


	8. Arrival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ack, sorry about how late this is! Just couldn't get motivated! But here it is, and a doozy of a chapter too! As a warning, one line of non-con, but that's about it. Enjoy!

Despite the fact that Optimus Prime had been onboard the Nemesis for almost an entire solar cycle, Megatron refused to go down to Shockwave's lab to see the prisoner. He kept telling himself it was because the scientist had much to do, and he didn't wish to hamper anything the mech may have been working on. No matter how many times he tried to fool himself, the warlord found himself pacing on the bridge in an agitated manner, his field swelling dangerously and keeping all the questioning soldiers in check. He was itching to go and see the prisoner, and yet he was too much of a turbokitten to admit it.

However, once he received the ping from Shockwave that Optimus had awoken from recharge, it was all he could do not to rush down to the lab. He didn't want to think about the anxiety swelling in his spark as he walked the halls, his stride barely contained to an even pace.

They may have been at war for years, but Megatron still hoped that Orion...Optimus would eventually come around to his sensor-net and return to him. Ever since the Prime had taken the mantle of the Matrix, Megatron had rarely seen his ex-lover's—albeit changed—frame outside of battle, save for twice where Megatron, drunken on bloodlust and fueled by rage, overpowered a shell-shocked Optimus after massive Decepticon victories and, well, fragged him until he couldn't walk. He never understood how either of them came out of those two encounters in one piece, or how they would even start to begin with, but every now and then Megatron felt compelled to send a small jibe or alluding taunt Optimus' way over their private comm link. He had never gotten a response in return, which at first he had taken as the line of code had been blocked or deleted. But when Orion had returned, Megatron had discovered that their private channel was indeed still active. It raised many questions, a few of which demanded answers.

Upon seeing Optimus in his addled state, the warlord couldn't stop the pang of pity that twisted his spark. His old enemy was certainly in quite the bind. But, strangely enough, his field was more active than it had been in decavorns, pulsing with barely reigned anxiety and fear, underlying with anger and confusion. Something in Megatron felt off at how vulnerable Optimus seemed, but he couldn't put his clawed digit on it.

While talking with the mech-turned-Predacon, the warlord still picked up on Optimus' usual ticks; how he fidgeted restlessly when Megatron brought up his pre-Prime designation, his analyzing attitude when a temporary ceasefire was suggested, and the way his optics unconsciously spiraled wide, enraptured by Megatron's willingness to let him roam, more or less, freely. Now, with Optimus by his side, he made his way to the bridge, where he had called an officer's meeting to explain the unique situation.

Megatron glanced down at the Autobot by his side, watching the way Optimus swung his helm back and forth as he examined the halls of the Nemesis. Once they made it to the doors leading to the bridge, bright blue optics looked up at him questioningly. Despite his frame being larger, Optimus barely reached the top of Megatron's shoulder pauldron, something the two realized at the same time if the quick flash of frustration across the Prime's faceplates were any indication.

Chuckling internally, Megatron waved his servo at Optimus. "I will return shortly. Wait here and do not go wandering off, understood?"

The Prime bobbed his helm, sitting next to the door like a cyberdog on watch. This time the warlord really did snicker, only to get a withering glare from Optimus. Megatron cast him a small smirk, then slipped through the doors and into the bridge.

None of the thirty odd officers seemed to notice his presence until his engines gave a little stall, much like clearing one's throat tubing. Megatron found this method more effective, as his engines made considerably more noise, and sounded much more intimidating. The gathered mechs immediately snapped to attention, and Megatron did a quick sweep to see who was in attendance. Knock Out was near Soundwave, and judging by the the way the medic had been gesturing and the schematics that had raced across Soundwave's visor before Megatron had gained their attention, the medic had been explaining a certain self-care procedure involving a buffer. Megatron again chuckled internally. The few times Soundwave did bother with self-maintenance outside the realm of necessary was when the warlord heckled him to do so, and even then it took nearly half the crew to convince Soundwave to do such a thing.

Next he glanced over at Shockwave, who was unsurprisingly by himself save a small miner, S1M0-N, who had to be the lowest ranking officer there. The drone was carrying several datapads, so Megatron assumed that he was the one in charge of gathering data samples from mine Delta-46 and delivering them to Shockwave.

Starscream was at the center of the bridge, flanked by a group of Eradicons and a Vehicon that had switched out his real designation for an Earth one based on his serial number. Steve, Megatron believed. What a strange decision, but the mech seemed to like it, and his peers had begrudgingly adopted it as what Megatron had heard called their own "meme", whatever the Pit that meant. The warlord sent a quick ping to Soundwave, telling him to get him a datapacket on what exactly the crew had been doing in their down time. He got a confirmation back.

Megatron glanced over at Shockwave again, watching as the mech dipped his helm slightly. He hadn't confirmed any of their questions yet.

"As many of you no doubt know, we caught an Autobot last solar cycle at one of our energon mines," Megatron began, optics roving over the crowd. Whispers and murmurs began to bubble up, only to quickly silence when the warlord continued. "I do not know what rumors have been circulating, but this mech should be of little threat, as according to a mutually-beneficial agreement we have come to. He is not to be shot at, severely maimed, injured, offlined, or in any other ways harmed during his time on the Nemesis." Megatron ended with a pointed glare at Starscream, who returned it with a sour look. Despite how trustworthy the Seeker was seemingly becoming, his faith in him was still small and he was skeptical. Some things never changed.

"For now, he shall be treated as a guest, and is not, under any circumstances, allowed to leave this ship or contact his teammates without direct consultation with me. If anybot," the warlord gave Starscream another glare, "and I mean anybot, leaks a single word about this to the Autobots, then I will _personally_  see to it."

Megatron allowed the threat to hang in the air for a few kliks before returning to the bridge doors and walking through. He found Optimus with his audio receptor pressed against the wall, finials twitching. Upon seeing the warlord, he yelped and distanced himself from the scene of the crime, optics spiraled wide and wings flat against his back struts in alarm. Seeing Optimus in such a state was rather disconcerting, as much as the thought of the long time grounder having actual wings.

"Come with me," Megatron said, motioning for the Prime to follow him back to the bridge. Optimus cautiously approached the door and took a calming cycle of air. Megatron rolled his optics, muttering, "Quit being so shy and get in there."

Optimus growled at him, though it didn't sound nearly as aggressive as before in the lab, and nodded. Megatron tapped the access pad, the doors beeping and sliding open.

The warlord entered first with Optimus close behind, slinking in his shadow as if it would shield him from prying optics, an endeavor that proved fruitless as several startled ex-vents could be heard around the room. There were quite a few different exclamations, including some of the more creative curses that could only be heard coming from long time Decepticons. However, one mech in particular voiced the question on everybot's processor over the cacophony.

"How is Optimus Prime a Predacon?" Knock Out asked, optics shuttering rapidly. He looked like he couldn't decide whether to be excited or awestruck, leaving him at a mixture of both. His talons were twitching anxiously, as if dying to inspect this new wonder, and Megatron made a note to have Soundwave keep an optic on the medic to make sure his curiosity wouldn't get the best of him.

"We are uncertain," Shockwave said, stepping out from his corner. S1M0-N scampered after him, tentatively presenting the scientist with a datapad. "Prime came into contact with Pred-En in mine Delta-46, but as to the reaction, it is unclear how it was possible."

Megatron glanced down when he felt Optimus shift uncomfortably from beside him, his claws lightly scraping against the deck. Feeling the warlord's gaze, he looked up, optics wide and uncertain. "Do you have something you would like to share?"

Optimus cocked his helm to the side and turned to Knock Out, who was sputtering about probable causes. "Could it have come in contact with his internal piping? Or did—What is it?" The medic paused when the Prime gave a soft whine to gain his attention. He shook his helm. "That's...not what happened?"

Megatron watched as Optimus raised a servo and pointed to his chestplates, engines revving pointedly. He tapped the faction badge above his spark a few times, then tried to open the plates. They barely budged, the echo of an aborted formation sequence ringing in the warlord's audio receptors.

"Um...I'm not reading you here. Did you scratch your paintjob?" Both Megatron and Optimus ex-vented heavily. For all the medical and scientific feats Knock Out had produced in the past, he could be rather oblivious.

"Something about sparks, Knock Out," Megatron growled, the medic opening his intake in a silent "Oh".

"Yes. Right. Got it. Anything else?" Optimus strode over to Knock Out, reaching out and tapping his chassis in an exaggerated motion. The medic barely had time to squeal "Watch the paint!" before Optimus turned and pointed at Megatron. It seemed to only cause more confusion, which suddenly drudged up a file from the warlord's memory banks. It was a pleasant, if unwanted, reminiscent of how Orion often further befuddled those he was explaining something to rather than make the concept easier to understand.

Knock Out's voice dragged him out of his processor. "Are you talking about dark energon?" He sounded doubtful.

"Of course not, you idiot!" Starscream butted in, his wings flared. Honestly, with how quiet his second had been, Megatron had forgotten the annoyance was even in the room. Leave it to Starscream to surprise him in unpleasant ways.

"Well, if _somebot_  hadn't sent the only mech on board that spoke Predacon out on an untimely scouting mission, maybe we wouldn't be in this mess!" Knock Out hissed. Ah, that explained why Predaking was absent.

"I...I, oh, you—"

"Enough!" The two stopped bickering at Megatron's command. "A little bit of a communication challenge is, at the most, irritating, _not_ a severe hinderance. Now, Optimus, anything else you would like to add?"

The Prime growled and ground his denta in frustration. He attempted to pull back his chestplates again, only to fail. His vents stalled hopelessly.

"Did the Pred-En come in contact with your spark?"

Both Optimus and Megatron glanced over to Shockwave, who had been silent during the whole debacle. The Prime split into a fanged grin and nodded vigorously, his tail lightly thumping on the deck, wings hitching a little higher. Megatron was unable to stop the small smirk that wormed its way onto his faceplates at the display.

"Okay, but how?" Knock Out pestered. Optimus' wings slumped and he gained a defeated look. "You don't know, do you?"

"That doesn't matter right now," Megatron spoke, startling himself as he came to the Prime's rescue. He thought nothing of it, instead saying, "Knock Out, take a few Vehicons and begin running physical tests with our guest. Somewhere away from human habitation is preferable. Shockwave will stay here and continue to work on gathered samples. And somebot call Predaking in, we may need him soon."

Ignoring the scandalized look Starscream shot him, Megatron made to leave when he felt something tap his shoulder strut. Amused, and without looking back, he said, "Yes, Optimus, you have to go with Knock Out."

Taking the Prime's receding pedesteps as an indication of his resignation, Megatron strode out of the bridge and headed for his suite, turning his thoughts inward and faceplates turning thoughtful. There was something he had to look into.

* * *

Miko's raucous singing filled Bulkhead's alt-mode, the Wrecker near flinching from the volume. Normally, he'd be screaming it out with her—Earth music was strangely invigorating—but not today. His thoughts were elsewhere, something that proved dangerous when one was on the road, the cactus he had just hit being proof of such.

The music dimmed and Miko blinked, groaning. "Aw, Bulk! The song's almost over!"

"I know, Miko. Just not up for it right now." The tone in his voice made her pause, and sigh, patting the Wrecker's dash sympathetically.

"Don't worry, Bulk. He'll be back. This isn't the first time."

"That's what worries me," he said darkly, pulling up to the military compound and popping open his door. Trying to sound more cheerful, he said, "Out you go, Miko."

Playing along, she stuck out her tongue. "First you take my music, then my bun warmers. What with you being so evil, next you'll join the Decepticons!"

"Ha! Very funny," he said chuckling as he transformed. "At least you're not stuck with Ratchet. He refuses to tune into Earth radio, you know. So all you'll get if static and old reruns of Cybertronian news shows he's downloaded."

Miko gave an over-dramatic shudder. "God and Primus above, I hate news shows."

Bulkhead shuttered his optics before breaking into laughter. "Interesting choice of words."

"Why thank you! I couldn't pick one, so I kinda smashed the two together. The boys think its stupid, but we hang out with you guys enough that sometimes things just stick." She shrugged as the two walked into the hanger. "I'm not Cybertronian, so it doesn't seem right for me to suddenly become Ratchet and go 'Primus blimey!' every time I get surprised."

"I do not say 'Primus blimey'!" Ratchet scolded from his spot at the console, glaring hard at the pair as they barely contained their giggles. "And try to be serious, would you? It's not like we're looking for our missing leader and time is of the essence or anything."

That sobered the two. Miko looked down, shuffling her feet, and Bulkhead rubbed the back of his helm. "Sorry, Doc."

"You'll be forgiven if you take Bumblebee and go out scouting for energon. We are dangerously low. Miko, you're in charge of cleaning the floors today. Jack is at work and Raf injured his shoulder." She groaned again, snatching the broom from its desolate corner and nabbing a bucket.

"You know, according to Bulk, in this one alien culture, buckets are considered por—"

"Yip yip yip, clean. Now." If looks could kill, Bulkhead thought Ratchet would have a smoking hole in his head. He was about to comm Bee when one of Ratchet's monitors began to beep.

"Decepticon activity," Ratchet muttered, before slamming his servo down on the console so hard Bulkhead thought it might break in two. "Everybody report to the main room. We've got 'cons!"

Arcee was the first to arrive. "Where?"

"Just outside a power plant in Oregon, apparently. As to why, I have no clue." Ratchet typed in the coordinates to the Groundbridge, watching as it whirled to life. "Arcee, go on ahead and scout out the area. Bulkhead, back her up. Be careful and alert; there are human settlements close to the area."

Bulkhead nodded, pounding his fist into his servo. "Let's wreck these guys!"

Arcee gave him an unamused look. "Seriously?"

The Wrecker shrugged and transformed, driving through the bridge with Arcee close behind. They emerged in a forested area, a humid sprinkle of rain sticking to their plating. Transforming back to root mode, they trudged forward cautiously, blasters online and aimed. Upon hearing muttering, the two crouched behind a copse of trees.

"Wow! Is this what organic planets look like?" A high-pitched voice asked, laced with wonder and apprehension. Dark blue plating flashed through the trees. "It's so green! And squishy!"

"'Course it is. Kinda cool, though. Hey, look at this thing." There was the enraged squawk and laughing. "It's got wings like us!"

The two voices chuckled until a third voice broke through. It was deep and gentle, similar to Dreadwing's in the few occasions Bulkhead had heard him speak. "You two are truly something. Shockwave really hasn't taken you off-world, has he?"

Arcee and Bulkhead glanced at each other, optics spiraling wide. The third 'con was someone they both recognized, even if he sounded older and less-insane than in the propaganda films.

"Nope! Showed us a few holovids, but that's about it," the first mech said. "But anyway, where are we going now?"

"First, we are going to find something capable of transmitting a message to our Decepticon brethren, as upon our landing my communications relay was scrambled beyond repair. Then we will set up a rendezvous point so we may be bridged onto the Nemesis. That is where we will meet with your creator and Lord Megatron." This time Bulkhead was able to see a purple shoulder pauldron and red biolights, but not much else.

"That's where the first Predacon creator made is, too, right?"

"From what I've heard."

"Aw, yeah!" The three began to move in Bulkhead and Arcee's direction, the latter waving at the former frantically. **::Ratch, Groundbridge. Now!::**

They picked their way back the where they arrived, flinching at every snapped branch or leafy rustle, slowly putting distance between themselves and the Decepticons. They reached the clearing and flung themselves through the vortex, Bulkhead praying to Primus they hadn't been spotted. They reached the hanger in a heap, somehow falling to the ground in a jumbled mess of Autobot.

"Arcee! Bulkhead! What's wrong? Who was it?"

They shared a look, Bulkhead shaking his helm in disbelief. Arcee stepped in. "There were three. We were unable to get a good visual, but two of them we didn't recognize."

Ratchet helped her two her pedes, and somebot did the same for Bulkhead. He cast a glance over his shoulders to see Wheeljack, his faceplates schooled in a concerned expression. Ratchet spoke again. "Who was the third?"

The pair shared yet another look, and Bulkhead took a deep cycle of air. "Don't take our word on this, Doc, but we aren't completely certain—"

"Stop stalling and tell me," the medic snapped, vocalizer fritzing slightly.

"It was Tarn."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Giggles yet dies of disappointment with self* so many things I said I'd never do as an author in this chapter... Things are just too funny for my perverse mind to handle.
> 
> Also, there are references to like two other big things. Kudos to who can find them!
> 
> Annnnnnnnnnnnddddd she puts Tarn in there. I have barely watched any G1 yet because I've been going through RiD first, (which I am very happy with, as it's a continuation of Prime and that kinda needed to happen.), or read IDW/MTMTE, so bear with me. This is literally from what I've read about him and pieced together, but he doesn't come in until later so I bought myself some time with that one. And I hope y'all can guess who his pals are. (Hint, they're not DJD, but watch Tarn try to Boy Scout them into wanting to join it)


	9. Approach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look who's late again......................I'm sorry please don't kill me!!!!! Look, LOOK, Predaking begins the descent to fatherhood! Take it and leave me to die! *runs away screaming*
> 
> But in all honestly I'm literally five second from dying so this isn't proofread. Read at your own cringe risk.
> 
> Oh, and important things at the bottom

"This planet is so primitive," Tarn muttered darkly, sulkily trailing behind his companions. If only Lord Megatron hadn't assigned this side mission to him during his report run, then maybe he would have the tech support he needed to get _something_  done. What he wouldn't trade to have Kaon by his side at that moment.

Though Kaon would probably just laugh and say "I told you so."

"Aw, c'mon, it ain't that bad! Just haven't found the right computer yet, that's all!" Darksteel chirped, slowing down to match his pace with Tarn's. Despite his bulk, he only came up to Tarn's chinplate. The DJD leader inclined his helm, his battle mask facing the blue Predacon. "What makes you so certain?"

"He's not. He's an idiot who doesn't want to accept the inevitable, that's all," Skylynx called behind his shoulder strut, wings fluttering. "Too optimistic."

Darksteel pouted, so close that Tarn felt his plating brush against him. The young Predacon must've considered him safe, then, what with their proximity. How odd. Outside the other DJD members, it was a long time another mech had willingly been this close to him outside battle. Even then, it was only the incredibly brave or the incredibly stupid.

Tarn didn't know how to feel about this lack of wariness.

"I am not an _idiot_ , Skylynx. And there is no such thing as being 'too optimistic'! Commander Tarn needed some cheering up after being around a mech as grumpy as you. I'm sure we'll find something that can send a message to Lord Megatron!"

"Thank you, Darksteel. Your efforts are appreciated." The blue Predacon beamed while his companion glowered spitefully, a feat he commended him on. If the two were not his charges, they would've already found themselves one with the Allspark and watching as Kaon tinkered with their corpses. Or maybe not. They certainly were interesting, as far as uneducated clones went.

A sharp beep drew Tarn's attention to the scanner in his servo. They were reaching another human facility.

"See? What did I tell you guys?" Darksteel said, eagerly peeking around Tarn's treads to peer at the glyphs flashing across the scanner, the device furiously translating the primate language. "NASA Space Grant Consortium? What's a Nasa?"

"The scan says it is a human organization dedicated to science; paticularly that relating to space," Tarn said, flicking his digit across the scanner's screen. "It will be closing for the night in approximately a groon. According to the page on this world's Data-web, it is the biggest computer terminal on this side of the continent. It also contains several satellites and the technology needed to contact Lord Megatron."

Darksteel let out an excited whoop, transforming into his alt-mode and flapping his wings eagerly. Tarn held out his servo. "Desist. We must wait for the majority of humans to leave the facilities."

"Why? They're just a bunch of fleshies," Skylynx said, crossing his arms. "'S not like they can hurt us or anything."

"Lord Megatron's orders. All Cybertronians located on this world are in hiding."

Skylynx's faceplates scrunched incredulously. "Seriously?"

Tarn shrugged. "Humans are small organics and scare easily. It is a wise tactic to keep them from mobbing, and therefore when the element of surprise is needed it can be more effectively used. I also heard that a group of humans scrapped a Decepticon and turned him into their puppet, so that means this race must not be completely defenseless and possess at least some sort of advanced weaponry if we must remain out of sight. "

Darksteel shuddered and transformed back to root mode. "Yikes."

"Yikes indeed," Tarn said, moving aside a fallen tree and sitting amongst its leaves. He waved the other two over, not missing their unsure looks as they eyed the debris warily. "You will be fine. We only have to wait a small amount of time."

The two Predacons settled next to him, albeit with hesitance, and he pointed at the barbed wire a ways off. "Over there is the facility. Security will be slightly above average, at least by human standards, but we should be alright so long as you listen to me."

They waited out the remainder of the groon in agonizing silence, Darksteel occasionally trying to break it only for his partner to shush him. Finally, Tarn's internal chronometer buzzed. He stood, the Predacons following suite.

"Let's go. Decepticons, rise up!"

* * *

Whenever Ratchet had to perform routine tests back at home, Optimus would always make sure that conveniently timed missions would suddenly pop up for his team, effectively spreading them out and keeping them collectively out of the medic's grasp. This was not the case when it came to Knock Out.

"Stop grumbling! Honestly, do you Autobots even have checkups?" The medic sweeped another scan over his frame, checking vitals and possibly injuries in need of repair. Satisfied, the prickly beam of the scanner shut off, leaving Optimus to give a quiet vent of relief.

The Eradicon guards placed at the medbay doors snickered silently, their shoulder plating shuddering. Knock Out huffed, patting Optimus' side. "Alright, we're done. Everything looks healthy minus a few minor lesions to your pedes and right wing. Self-repair should take care of it within the solar cycle."

Optimus made to stand, only for the medic to jump in front of him, holding out his servos. "Nope. We've got physical exams next."

The Prime rumbled and swung his helm back and forth, looking for a way to get around Knock Out, who followed each movement, arms out and plating flared. He was such a small mech that the display was hilarious, had not the sound of the Eradicons' blasters powering up reached his audio receptors. Optimus snarled, helm down and fangs bared, leaving Knock Out to turn around and face the guards. "Quit it! He's a guest, not a prisoner, you brutes!"

They stood down, albeit reluctantly, glancing at each other nervously. The medic sighed, motioning for Optimus to follow him. Without looking at the Eradicons, he barked, "One of you go get Steve. I want another grounder when we're down there!"

An Eradicon broke off, meeting back up with them once they reached the bridge, a Groundbridge already whirling angrily and casting a green glow over curious visors. Steve, a Vehicon Optimus had seen with Starscream during the meeting, was with him, shifting from pede to pede anxiously. He kept casting terrified looks in Optimus' direction.

They passed through the Groundbridge into a grassy clearing, trees towering overhelm. Bright patches of sunlight shone over Knock Out's polished plating and glinted off of claws.

The medic shuddered unhappily, his servos clenching slightly. "I _hate_  forests," he whispered angrily, Optimus straining to hear from his place beside him. He then whirled around, clapping and curling his fingers together, making a finger gun that he pointed at the Prime. It was a human gesture, one that Optimus was surprised Knock Out, of all mechs, knew. "Right, then! I just need a few things and then we can leave this Primus-damned vegetation."

The medic made him do various tests, many of which the Prime was familiar with. Knock Out gathered data on his speed, piston pressure, and overall stats. Then he proceeded to have Optimus complete stranger tasks to measure bite strength (which involved the sacrifice of a rather large tree), and the temperature of the fire he was now able to produce. The medic was constantly consulting his datapad, comparing his numbers to the Predacon's, occasionally nodding or muttering. Finally, he asked the question Optimus dreaded.

"I'm just going to measure top speed of flight then we'll be...why are you looking at me like that?" The Prime shuttered his optics, engine rumbling, his wings lowering uncertainly. Knock Out groaned, a servo pressing against his faceplate.

"You don't know how to fly, do you?" Optimus shook his helm, vocalizer emitting an apologetic whine. One optic peeked out from between the medic's claws.

"Thrust, would you mind?" One of the Eradicons stepped forward, visor glowing brightly, approaching Optimus cautiously.

"Sir, I understand you were a grounder before. Have you ever had any flight experience?" Optimus nodded. "So it's essentially the same concept. Actually, from what I've heard, it's pretty similar to driving too."

The Eradicon transformed, hovering midair. "You have to feel the air currents, then calculate how they're going to affect your flight pattern. The little adjustments help keep you steady and upright, which is important."

"C'mon, Thrust, this isn't seekerlet daycare! Get on with it!" the other Eradicon said, earning him a quick "Shut up!" before the lesson continued.

"Since you don't have a jet engine or thrusters, you'll have to put in more work to maintain your altitude." Optimus shook out his wings, looking between them and the Eradicon. He shrugged.

"That is hardly an acceptable flight lesson," a deep voice commented, drawing the group's attention to the mech stepping out of the trees. Branches were haphazardly jutting from his plating like antlers, though no one brought it up with his menacing scowl and irritated field pulsing over them.

"You! What are you doing here?" Knock Out said, his vocalizer an octave higher than usual as he pointed wildly at Predaking. "Were you following us? I'll let Lord Megatron know—"

The Predacon waved him off. "He already does. Commander Soundwave sent me to assist Optimus Prime with becoming familiar with his new frame, as you all are obviously failing. The advanced supremacy of Predacon race is more complicated than a few scans and some theoretical datapads, doctor."

Knock Out gave him a scandalized look. "Are you implying I can't do my job, you overgrown mechalizard?"

The Predacon shrugged, branches falling from his plating. "No. I'm just requesting some time with him, then I will allow you to continue your tests."

The medic growled ferociously, waving both Eradicons and Steve towards him. Optimus could now see the lag in his step, the way his pedes dragged and his posture slouched. Knock Out seemed to be running on fumes, dangerously close to going into stasis lock trying to keep up with Shockwave's research and the Prime's arrival, as well as a few other factors that were also most likely playing into his lack of upkeep. He glanced at Optimus, voice slicing through the tension like a knife. "If you need us, we'll be right over there."

Predaking hissed angrily as they passed, glaring at them icily as they settled at the edge of the clearing. He then ex-vented harshly, a puff of warm air gusting across Optimus' wings. He turned his optics up to the Predacon's, shuttering them curiously. Why he cared so much, the Prime didn't understand.

"What that mech was saying to you is correct. Air current and altitude is important when flying. You cannot muscle your way through the sky, or it will chew you up and spit you back out." Predaking was suddenly next to him, leaning over his back struts and reaching for his wings. Optimus keened in alarm at the sudden invasion of privacy and tried to squirm away. "Be calm, little one. Here. Your wings should only be at their full extent when catching an updraft or to glide. Like this."

Something in Predaking's voice made Optimus relax, and he let the other mech gently adjust the delicate metal of his wings into the position he was talking about, his touch soft and cautious. "They should be slightly angled upwards if you wish to slow down, and tilted down if you wish to descend." Again he moved the wings so they mimicked what he was describing. "If you wish to dive, draw them up and curl them sharply. Only pull them flat against your flank if you wish to go into freefall, which I do _not_  recommend, as it is very difficult to stop."

Optimus stored the information away in his processor, watching the Predacon expectantly. The large mech smiled back, his optics crinkling. "It is quite simple, actually. And if you wish to ascend, try to catch a current and ride it to the altitude you wish to be at. If you cannot do so, then take a bit of a running start and pump your wings, making sure they are angled upwards ever-so-slightly." He raised his arms and flapped them jokingly, making the Prime chuckle, though it came out more of a strangled rumble.

"Shall we practice?" Predaking gave him no time to answer before he transformed, his much larger beast-mode towering over Optimus. He shrunk back, trying to suppress the intimidated shiver running through his spark. The Predacon rumbled and nosed at Optimus insistently, wings spread and tail swishing lazily. After a moment of hesitation, the Prime followed suit.

Predaking trotted forward before pushing downwards with his wings, taking an almighty leap as he became airborne. He circled Optimus, watching expectantly.

"C'mon, sir, you can do it!" Thrust shouted from his spot near Knock Out.

Optimus spread his wings uncertainly, gaze shifting between the Predacon and the sky. He flapped the appendages experimentally as he took a step forward. Then another. And another.

Nearing the edge of the clearing, he sped up, raising his wings and pumping them. He jumped...

Only to crash helm-first into a copse of trees, limbs getting entangled in their trunks. There was an uproarious burst of laughter from the Decepticons, Optimus feeling his faceplate heat up furiously as he growled and snapped, trying to free himself from his organic prison. He felt a tug on the scruff bar of his neck and then he was pulled free, falling backwards on his aft and back struts bumping against Predaking's chestplates. Optimus looked up sheepishly.

The beastformer huffed in amusement, picking him up by the scruff bar once more. Optimus clicked furiously in protest but was drowned out by howls of laughter. Predaking sent the group of Decepticons a sharp glare, reducing them to a few chuckles as he set the disgruntled Prime down, nudging him forward, his intent clear. _Again_.

He tried. He really did. But thirteen failed attempts later found Optimus with his front half buried in the dirt, the rest of him stuck, balanced precariously above his helm and bending his spinal strut awkwardly. He growled in frustration, his back pedes wiggling like mad as he tried to right himself. Turning abruptly, he narrowed his optics in determination. He was not going to fail on something so simple.

Optimus bounded forward, streaking past Predaking and flapping his wings furiously. He propelled himself upward, clawing at the air as he struggled to stay aloft. He tipped his wings back, a brush of wind tickling against them, and then he was falling. Until he angled up, sharply veering away from the ground at the last astrosecond, suspended as if he dangled from a cable. He grinned, roaring happily, swooping upwards and gaining altitude. The next thing Optimus knew, Predaking was by his side, the two spiraling higher and higher until they leveled out, the tips of the Prime's wings brushing low-hanging clouds, tinted orange with the setting sun.

They glided in silence before beginning to descend, flying in tighter and tighter spirals. The Predacon transformed and landed gracefully, nodding to the approaching medic. Optimus was not quite as fortunate, catching a pede against the ground and tumbling into a heap. He was helped up by clawed servos, Predaking shuttering his optics rapidly, EM field reaching out in concern. "Are you alright?"

The Prime nodded, glancing at Knock Out as he approached, a device similar to a human speed gun in his servo. The medic kneeled down, grabbing a scanner from his subspace and running it over Optimus' frame. His plating relaxed as he read the results, then glared. "Since I've gotten all the data I need, I'm confining you to the Nemesis for the next two solar cycles. Any more damage and self-repair will have a Pit of tears to deal with. And you," he pointed at Predaking, "make sure he doesn't end up hurting himself anymore."

"Of course." The large mech had a skittish smile on his faceplate. "Let's just stick to flight theory for now, shall we?"

To Optimus, that sounded wonderful.

* * *

"Soundwave, report," Megatron ordered, though it sounded more like a request than a command. The spymaster grinned behind his visor. With his lord sounding so distracted, it didn't take telepathy to know what he was thinking about.

 **{{ _Nemesis fuel levels: fifty-seven percent and declining...ration stock: twenty-one percent...analysis: suggesting refuel. Nearest accessible mines: North American quadrant_ }}** Soundwave droned, borrowing the reports multiple Vehicons had made earlier. Megatron intaked air sharply, optics flitting across the screen in front of him. The spymaster rapped his talons against the console, drawing his lord's attention back to him, siphoning the words and phrases he needed into one level and monotone voice. **{{ _Prisoner: Soundwave wishes to know Lord Megatron's intent. Fulfill request: y/n?_ }}**

"Ah, of course, Soundwave," Megatron said uneasily, glancing around at the few Vehicons stationed on the other side of the bridge.

**{{ _Soundwave: would like to thank Lord Megatron in confiding with him. Suggestion: switch to comms?_ }}**

"Denied." His lord leaned in close, voice dropping to a whisper. Soundwave could feel the smirk on Megatron's faceplate. "You and I both know my interest in our _guest_."

 **{{ _Soundwave: tried not to assume._ }}** Megatron chuckled, the rumble from his engine reverberating in the air. It drew a few weary glances from the stationed Vehicons, but Soundwave ignored them as he pinged an image across his visor. **{{¯\\_(ツ)_/¯}}**

At this his lord laughed. "This is one of the many reasons why you are preferable to Starscream. If I keep leaving you unchecked, this misdemeanor will run rampant."

Soundwave chortled silently, the minuscule shaking of his frame the only sign of his amusement. **{{ _Soundwave: superior._ }}**

He cocked his helm to the side as he received a datapacket from Laserbeak, Megatron giving him a curious look. Reviewing the contents, the spymaster quickly switched them over to play on his visor. His lord leaned in close, optics widening when he recognized the mechs in the video feed. He then laughed so hard the Vehicons turned around and cast concerned glances at their leader, one even looking as though he was going to ping for medical assistance.

"What's the matter with him? For all the high and mighty slag I've heard about Primes, flying should be a piece of oil cake!" Megatron said, vocalizer spitting static as he calmed. He tutted in disappointment. "Optimus could at least _try_  not to offline whilst in our care. After all, that would look quite bad in the optics of his brethren."

Soundwave pulled up another emoji, **{{u_u}}** , and inclined his helm. **{{ _Soundwave: agrees with Lord Megatron. Suggestion: allow Predaking to give him more flight lessons. Flightframes: assist._ }}**

Megatron stroked his chinplate thoughtfully. "I like the thought of teaching a grounder to fly. The irony of their precious Prime learning the ways of their enemies _does_  sound awfully appealing."

Soundwave rolled his optics under his visor. **{{ _Soundwave: meant something entirely different._ }}**

His lord cast him a harsh glare that lasted less than a nanoklik before softening. "I know. I also know that you were hinting at my idea as well."

**{{ _Lord Megatron: believes he can earn his trust?_ }}**

Megatron nodded. "I know I can earn his as I once earned Orion's. It is only a matter of time."

The spymaster nodded, returning to his console. **{{ _Soundwave: wishes Lord Megatron the best of luck. Human term: break a leg._ }}**

  
His lord didn't notice the organic phrase, plodding out of the bridge. With the look in his optics, it again not taking telepathy to figure out what Megatron was thinking. But then, when did he ever need to?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to add that if you've watched Rescue Bots you should go totally read the oneshot I wrote instead of working on this: http://archiveofourown.org/works/7612333
> 
> I'm sorry I'm so lazy, it needed to be done TT^TT
> 
> HERE"S THE IMPORTANT THING I MENTIONED EARLIER: I would like some Cybertronian names for the drones! If anyone would like to contribute, I will love you forever! Also, I'm taking design requests/suggestions for Optimus' bipedal mode. Give it to me, guys! 
> 
> Comments are loved, kudos are cherished, and cyberhugs to all!!


	10. Reminiscence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ARE Y'ALL READY FOR SOME FEELS?!?!?!?!?! It begins, the trash shipping. Muahahahahaha!!!
> 
> But on a serious note, the lovely and dear to my heart kanashimibeast has drawn Predacon!OP! AND HE LOOKS FREAKIN FABULOUS GO CHECK IT OUT HERE: http://kbeastart.tumblr.com/post/148249005831/so-lately-ive-been-following-this-great-fanfic
> 
> And finally, I'm so so sorry this is late! This past week was crazy, as swimming finished, I went on two other trips, and coming back from the latter (which was a big drive since it was like eight hours and through Chicago) our car broke down!!! Not to mention we were getting a new puppy since we passed the place on the way back, so I've been dealing with a pee machine. You can check him out on my tumblr here: http://cambionnation.tumblr.com/post/148649958201/meet-appa-newest-addition-to-fandom-trash-fam (There you go Anna ;3 )

The rest of the solar cycle was uneventful after Optimus' party returned. Knock Out slunk back to the med bay and the drones dispersed, leaving him and Predaking alone on the bridge. Predaking offered to escort Optimus back to Shockwave's lab, and as much as he wished to stay where he could stretch his wings, he agreed, the two walking side by side down the corridor. Predaking was just starting up on a story regarding his first days with Starscream when they rounded the corner, coming face-to-face with Megatron.

The Predacon's intake snapped shut, his optics narrowing and a warning growl reverberating across his plating. Megatron cast a quick glance him, orbital ridge raising, appearing calm as his field spiked aggressively. "Predaking. I would like to thank you for your assistance earlier."

"It was my pleasure to tend to one of my own," he replied in a low tone, snarl on his faceplate as he finished with "my liege."

"I see, but Optimus has hardly been in this state long enough to even be considered a Predacon, wouldn't you think?" The warlord took a stance that was all too familiar to Optimus; he was gearing up for a fight, plating drawn taught and side turned to make himself more imposing and less of a target.

"Maybe, my liege, but I do not care. He shares a similar frame, and is going through a similar experience to my own not too long ago. I believe it is my duty as a leader to my kind to assist." The tension began to bubble over, Optimus watching as the two mechs inched closer to one another, daring each other to back down. Finally, when it became apparent the two would just duke it out in the small hallway, Optimus stepped between them, vents chuffing in frustration. His EM field washed over the pair, attempting to calm them down from a seemingly routine battle for dominance. The Prime wanted to sigh. Typical Megatron, picking fights with any mech who seemed like a challenge.

He heard spluttering from behind him. "Optimus? What in the Pits—" but he shut the warlord up with a light whack of his tail. His intent was clear: "Enough!"

"Optimus Prime?" Predaking asked uncertainly, shuttering his optics. He seemed just as startled with him intervening as Megatron. "But—"

Optimus shook his helm, snorting purposefully. He would not have them fighting each other like immature sparklings. It would just be sad.

"Same as ever," Megatron said from behind him, vocalizer laced with amusement. The Prime felt energon rush to his cheekplates when he detected fondness in the statement, but chose to ignore it as he turned to face the warlord, communicating his question through a few pulses of emotion in his field. Megatron had obviously been waiting near Shockwave's lab for a purpose.

"Ah, yes. I wanted to talk to you. If that is alright with your _guardian_ , that is." Megatron and Predaking shared a quick glare before Optimus broke them up again, nodding and casting a meaningful look at the other mech. He shrugged.

"That is fine. However, if you so much as think of doing him harm—" Megatron waved the threat off, much to Predaking's chagrin.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he said jokingly before his vocalizer turned steely. "Even if I did, you would not be able to do anything about it. He is _my_ charge, on _my_  ship, which belongs to _my_  faction, under _my_  command."

Predaking started to lunge forward, taking the bait, only for Optimus to growl exasperatedly, flaring his wings angrily. He wasn't some object to be fought over, like the children's television remote back at base. Predaking backed off, optics flicking back and forth between the two mortal enemies, seemingly at ease at each other's sides. He sighed in defeat. "Very well. If you need me, little one, I'm in the upper hanger."

He reluctantly left, casting one last look over his shoulder pauldron before he disappeared around the corner, leaving Megatron and Optimus in silence.

"'Little one'?" Megatron's plating shook from restrained laughter. Optimus whacked him harder this time.

The warlord chuckled, beginning to walk, his charge sulking and grumbling behind him. They passed through so many twists and turns that Optimus lost count, the trip quiet save for the few drones that would stop and salute Megatron, who, in turn, would acknowledge them with a nod. Even when they arrived in a sparkling clean hall with large doors Megatron was silent, stopping once they walked down side corridor and faced the entrance to an isolated officer's quarters. The warlord typed in the passcode and ushered Optimus inside.

The Prime watched as Megatron strode past him, making his way towards an energon dispenser at the far end of a rather large chamber. It was far plainer than Optimus had believed, with just a big and comfortable berth off to one side, a desk, a few chairs scattered about, and an enclave off to his right where the washracks must've been. There were no war trophies; rather, the walls were covered in a multitude of shelves, each one burdened by rows upon rows of datapads, some even stacked on top others due to lack of space.

The scraping of metal caused Optimus to jump, helm whipping around in alarm, haunches raised and wings half spread. It was just Megatron, who was tugging one chair near Optimus, two energon rations balanced precariously in the crook of his arm. The sight was so familiar that old memory files flashed to the forefront of the Prime's HUD, making him reel with a sudden influx of tangled emotions. He shoved the bothersome files away. Megatron was no longer _that_ mech, and neither was he. They were now enemies, fighting on opposite sides of a long, drawn-out war. He was a prisoner who needed to stay alert, not a lovesick youngling who was experiencing meshmoths in their tanks after seeing an attractive mech for the first time.

"Ah, Optimus, where are my manners? Please, sit, sit. Here," Megatron sat one cube between the Prime's servos before gesturing at one of the few nice commodities he had; a finely woven mesh rug. Judging by the intricate craftsmanship, Optimus thought it had to be Vosnian. A long ago gift from Starscream, perhaps? It certainly made sense, what with the second in command's initial enthrallment with the Decepticon cause that he had recently regained. The mere idea sent an outrageously embarrassing pang of jealously surging across his systems, one he shut down immediately. He was being ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.

So Optimus sat, squashing any stupid chain of code that dared flash across his HUD, and leaned down towards the processed energon. He shuttered his optics curiously, cautiously pawing at the cube. He could barely get it off the floor, his servos fumbling against the glass clumsily, so he put it down, his faceplate so close to the energon that his intakes made its thick surface shudder. Without thinking, his glossa peeked out and timidly lapped at the surface. Finding that it was safe for his tanks in this frame (and praying to Primus it wasn't drugged), he slowly drank it down, stopping about halfway through the cube when he realized that Megatron was watching him over the rim of his ration. Optimus made a whine, finials lowering, looking abashed. The warlord rumbled, optics shining.

He reached a servo out, as if to pet the Prime's helm, but stopped at the soft growl coming from his vocalizer. Megatron pulled back, trying to disguise the motion as just stretching out a joint. On anybot else (save Soundwave and maybe Starscream) the ploy would've been believable. Optimus, however, saw straight through it.

Megatron took a deep in-vent, before letting it out in a hiss. A tired sound he could relate to. "So, Optimus, how has your time aboard the Nemesis been suiting you?"

He shrugged noncommittally, while he really was itching to talk about his experience. Megatron, sensing this, leaned forward in his chair, ration cube cradled between his knees. "A mech of so many words, reduced to his field and subvocalizer to communicate. It's pitiable."

Optimus snorted and shuttered his optics in his way of saying, _Don't rub it in_. Seeing that the warlord was serious, he raised his servo and waved it casually. He squawked when Megatron rose, scrutinizing him carefully. "It certainly hasn't done anything for your paint."

Before he could flinch away, Megatron dragged a claw against his shoulder struts, making a face of disgust. Optimus felt a trail of fire from where the warlord touched him. "Knock Out allowed you near him when you were this filthy? I'm surprised with the good doctor. He really _is_  distracted."

Optimus made an offended noise, but he was herded towards Megatron's washracks. "You need a good scrub. Honestly, you really are reverting to Orion Pax."

Megatron grunted when he got smacked by a wing, the Prime glaring at him indignantly. He remembered it much differently, mainly him always reminding the gladiator to take an oil bath or at least a quick shower after he neglected it for a decacycle or two. Which was nasty.

The warlord finally managed to coral him into the large washracks, though Optimus hardly had time to appreciate its size before a stream of solvent clouded his vision. When he regained his sight, he saw that Megatron had dropped into a crouch, a cleaning brush in one servo and a rag in the other, faceplate set in concentration as he circled, not unlike when he faced opponents faster or larger than him in combat. Before he pounced, however, Optimus screeched angrily, making him back a few steps up. He wasn't a sparkling. He could wash himself.

"Okay, fine. You can do it. I'll be right outside if you need help, oh 'Great and Mighty' Optimus Prime." The warlord retreated from the washracks, leaving Optimus to fend for himself. The Prime reached for the rag, having to try multiple times before being able to pick it up, and then tried in vain to clean his back struts. He attempted it again, only to slip on the solvent and fall, back struts connecting painfully with the floor. He yelped, struggling to sit up only to fall right back over. He whimpered quietly, contemplating Megatron's offer. It was mortifying, but...

Optimus let a broken keen from his vocalizer, offlining his optics and hiding his helm under one wing in embarrassment. He really was pathetic if he needed his mortal enemy to help him wash.

Optimus felt warm servos at his back struts, helping him back to his pedes. He heard Megatron's vents hiss in exasperation, and he all but dragged the Prime over to the wall, where the warlord pressed a panel and a bench folded down. He sat and began working Optimus' plating, claws able to reach where blunt digits could not.

Megatron started with the Prime's helm, his touch deft and sure as he cleared grime from behind his finials and upper neck cabling. Soon, the warlord had made his way down to Optimus' chestplates, his claws suddenly a lot less certain, his attention focused on the spot above his spark. The Prime shifted uncomfortably, suddenly realizing his mistake. Megatron could snuff him then and there, if he wanted to. What an idiot Optimus had been, taking the warlord's word like he had, lies and deception were his trademark—

Oh. _Oh_. Optimus' engine hitched and he relaxed visibly, his plating sagging as Megatron had moved onto his next target: his wings.

Now, Optimus had heard a lot of things about flightframes and their aerodynamical components, especially their wings. The appendages were sensitive in order to collect tactile data, and were a major handicap when it came to a fight, unless they were internal, like Megatron's, or multifunctional, like Soundwave's. In the couple of solar cycles Optimus had been a Predacon, he could certainly confirm how delicate wings could be. However, he had a whole deeper understanding of their sensitivity and a newfound appreciation for flightframe companionship, because he'd never experienced a sensation as wonderful as another cleaning his wings when he was a grounder.

Optimus didn't even realize his engine was purring until he heard Megatron's chuckle, but even then he couldn't find it in him to be embarrassed. His wings pushed into the touch, claw tips gently running over tiny cables and fuel lines, working their way down calipers and across powerful mesh. Megatron's movements were slow and practiced (there was another ridiculous bout of jealousy at this, but a hard rub against a wing joint banished it) and he worked diligently, the warm solvent sluicing down the wings in rivulets that shone like pure veins of energon. By the time Megatron was ready to move on, Optimus was halfway into recharge. A burst of upset static escaped his subvocalizer when the warlord began cleaning his back struts instead, making him laugh. "Patience, Optimus. I thought that was one of your strengths?"

The Prime settled, only to jump back up when his hip struts were grabbed and maneuvered so the warlord was able to have a better reach. He started to screech, only for Megatron to growl and poke him in frustration. "Shut it and get your processor out of the gutter. I would not stoop so low."

Megatron worked his way down to the tip of his tail, finishing his task by polishing the blade-like spines in his servo so it shone brighter than Knock Out's paintjob. He groaned and stood, quickly washing himself, before shutting the solvent off and flipping the switch for the air distributer. Optimus barked in alarm when a gust if wind caught his wings, making them snap open and bop the warlord in the faceplate. He snorted and gave the Prime a look that had him sheepishly ducking his helm.

The two stepped back into Megatron's quarters, Optimus feeling cleaner than he had in a long time. He cast a quick glance up at the warlord, the soft smile that answered his question wrenching his spark. It had been vorns since Optimus had seen that smile, the gentle look in his optics, before the void of countless deaths separated them.

"Do you need anything else before returning to Shockwave's lab?" Optimus tried not to show his disappointment with returning to that place of death and questionable morals as he nodded, but Megatron seemed to pick up on it anyway. " I'll see about getting you quarters elsewhere on the ship, if you would prefer that. It doesn't mean we'll be dropping out guard, though."

Optimus chuffed in amusement. "I'll send for some Vehicons to take you back to Shockwave for the night cycle. We can make the arrangements next solar cycle."

While Megatron pinged for the drones, Optimus felt something cloud his processor. At first he panicked, believing that he'd been drugged, but then recognized the emotion as content. To his shame, he found he didn't really want the moment to end. So when Megatron informed him the Vehicons were right outside the door, he decided to do something a bit risky, a word he never used to describe himself. That was for...Orion. And as he was both Optimus Prime and Orion Pax, he decided to let the latter peek through.

He turned to face Megatron, making the warlord grunt in surprise when he reared back and put his front servos on either side of his faction badge. Megatron was deathly still, watching him with enough concentration to saw him in half, unsure of what he was doing. Like a dog showing affection to its human companion, he touched his olfactory sensors on the tip of his snout against Megatron's forehelm, engines purring happily while his field pulsed cautiously, reaching out for the one he used to know so well. It brushed back.

Satisfied, Optimus pulled away and exited through the doors, startling the two Vehicons outside it. They glanced inside the room before leading him away, and if they wondered why their lord looked so flustered and slightly purple in the faceplates, Optimus couldn't tell them.

* * *

Knock Out dreamt of Breakdown.

Not always. Much to his dismay, random dreams and fluxes about his dead Conjux came less and less often, leaving him to dredge up his own memories and leave them for his HUD to play during a recharge cycle. The time they went driving out on the largest and fastest speedway located south of Kaon. The day they met, on opposite sides, and when Breakdown saved him. When they took what humans would call a "honeymoon" out on Luna-II.

This time was different.

Knock Out was out under the stars, something wispy and cold tickling his pedes. Judging by the infernal organic vegetation and growing familiar constellations, he was on Earth. Breakdown was by his side, two bright yellow optics staring at him with enough love to melt his spark, a fresh paintjob making his chassis sparkle in the silver moonlight.

"Love ya, KO," he said, vocalizer sounding wistful. The medic reached out for his servo, almost expecting to be tricked at the last second. Thank Primus he wasn't, like the previous couple of dreams that occurred randomly.

"Of course you do, you bucket of bolts. Who wouldn't?"

Breakdown chuckled, his frame rumbling as he pressed it against Knock Out's. He knew it wasn't real, but draped his arms over his Conjux's chassis anyway, burying his faceplate into blue metal. "I miss you, stupid."

A servo patted his helm, holding him close. "I know. But you can't hang onto me forever."

"What?" He pulled back so fast he nearly got whiplash. "How can you say that?"

A digit was placed against his lipplate with a gentleness many bots couldn't imagine of an ex-Wrecker and Decepticon bruiser. "I'll always be with you, KO. You've gotta remember that. Grieving is good. Reminiscing is healthy. But when you get like this..." he gestured to the medic and sighed, pulling him close. "You're a mess. I've never seen you this rundown, and it breaks my spark. My frame might be gone, but my spark is literally with you. Always. So buck up."

Knock Out sniveled, shuttering his optics. "That's rather blunt."

"So's my hammer. And my processor, according to old Starscream. It's a winning quality." He winked, servos drifting to Knock Out's hips. "You'll still get sad, and you'll still be upset, but I hope I helped."

"You always do, even if you end up making an even bigger mess." Breakdown chuckled before sighing. "What? Oh no, _no_! I'm not waking up, am I? I want to stay here with you!"

"Knock Out," Breakdown said sternly, cupping the medic's helm in his servos. "You'll always be here with me. Now go get that spring back into your step. We can't have Screamer beating you at turning those Vehicon helms, can we? Go get 'em, turbotiger."

His Conjux gave him a a quick peck and a sad smile before he was torn from his visual feed. Knock Out awoke swearing, slamming his comm link so hard he thought he might've dented his helm. **::What in Primus and the Pits do you fragging _want_ in the middle of the night shift?::**

**::Soundwave: suggest Knock Out make his way to med bay. Purpose: incoming refugees under Autobot fire. May need medical attention.::**

He swung his pedes off his berth, claws dragging longingly over the surface. Breadkdown was right, he needed to get his slag together.

Starscream had been beating him at his own game for long enough. It was time for the old Knock Out to work his magic.

Right after he worked that magic on whoever may be coming in injured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So since Kanishimi did that AWESOME AMAZING PICTURE I LOVE YOU SO MUCH, I'll be doing a doodle dump once OP goes bipedal. Hopefully between the two of us some questions will be answered!
> 
> Please leave a comment and a kudos, you can get Appa the chow chow's love for eternity.


	11. Contact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEyI'MSORRYI'MLATESCHOOLSTARTEDPLEASEDON'TKILLMEEEEEEEE!!!!!
> 
> Here, take this fight scene and cheesy moment instead!!!! (I'm sorry, I've never read IDW/MTMTE continuity, bear with me!!)
> 
> On another note, Quetzalcoatals drew an awesome picture of Optimus! Check it out here: http://thespiritofcliffhangers.tumblr.com/post/149672852802/a-bit-of-fanart-for-a-transformers-prime-fic-iv

Ratchet had sent a team of three to a NASA facility in Oregon as soon as Agent Fowler alerted them of the alarm being tripped. The human had quickly cleared the premises, leaving the Autobots to take care of whatever Decepticon had broken in. Of course, Ratchet had sworn quietly, mumbling darkly about it being Tarn, to which the Wheeljack and Smokescreen had scoffed. Judging by the area, it was probably some drones nabbing some supplies or something.

Smokescreen covered his audio receptors the second he reached the other end of the Groundbridge, wincing as he quickly shot commands to turn down their sensitivity, alarms blaring in his audials. Humans sure were able to make a lot of noise for such a small species; they could probably rival even the loudest forges back on Cybertron if they put their minds to it.

But now was not the time, Smokescreen reminded himself, a sudden jet of fire nearly burning him to a crisp as he sprinted behind a large stack of I-beams, blasters onlining dutifully. He swore as he heard the telltale whir of an ion cannon, the shot clipping off a chunk of metal mere astrometers from his helm. He ducked and fired rapidly, rolling behind a shipping container to avoid the storm of flames racing after him.

 **::If those 'Cons don't get their helms outta their afts, we're all goin' up in a big fireball,::**  Wheeljack snarled over the comms. A deafening _boom_ echoed from Smokescreen's right as smoke flooded around to his hiding spot, reeking of overheated energon.

 **::I think you should follow your own advice there, Wheeljack,::**  Arcee quipped. **::As you obviously haven't learned anything from the gas station incident.::**

Smokescreen could practically feel the noncommittal shrug in Wheeljack's voice. **::That was completely different and you know it. Besides, that grenade had their designations on it.::**

Smokescreen snorted, sneaking in a few more shots before rolling out from behind the shipping crate. A navy blur shot past him, claws scraping over his armored plating with a screech. Smokescreen twisted and fired blindly, taking the muffled grunt as a victory before transforming and gunning it, tires squealing as he raced across asphalt.

Maybe scoffed was too nice a word; Smokescreen had flat-out laughed at the old medic, despite Arcee's warning glare. He wasn't an idiot; he knew the DJD existed and was renowned for its cruelty. But _the_ Tarn on Earth? He trusted Bulkhead and Arcee with his life, but their report had seemed frazzled and panicked. Pit, half of Decepticons had purple paint jobs and wild fields. It was most likely that Vehicon Steve trying to impress Starscream again, because Smokescreen doubted Tarn knew what Earth even was.

However, he had a change of spark when he approached a towering figure that certainly was _not_ Steve, purple biolights glinting in the darkness his only warning as a large servo backhanded his side, crumpling the metal like it was paper. He was lucky he didn't flip as he transformed, his pedes sending up sparks as they skid against the ground. Smokescreen hissed in pain and ducked another assault, this time feeling the thick and flexible mesh of treads brush over his shoulder pauldron. Servo-to-servo combat it was, then.

Only the blow had crippled his left arm, the internal mechanisms protesting loudly and flashing warnings across his HUD. He ex-vented heavily, shifting his weight back onto his right side.

"You are wounded. Weak. Give up now, petulant Autobot, and I promise your death with be quick and much less painful." One of the floodlights out on the field caught the mech's battle mask, the insignia-shaped metal shining in proud purple. Smokescreen's spark stuttered in its casing. Okay, yeah, maybe he shouldn't had been such an aft to Ratchet earlier.

A punch caught him under his chassis, causing him to start unexpectedly, optics blown wide in surprise. He was then hit by a nasty spinning hook kick to the faceplate, sending him reeling, barely able to catch his balance as his HUD was flooded with warnings and his visual feed blinked in and out. Despite this, he straightened and gave his attacker (who was undoubtedly the infamous Tarn) a crooked smile. "In your fragged up dreams, Decepticreep!"

"As you wish. You have stood in my way, and now prepare to be annihilated in the name of the great Lord Megatron!" Tarn's cannons onlined as he charged Smokescreen, firing shots as he went. He was as much of a tank in bipedal mode as he was in his alt mode.

Smokescreen checked to the left, preparing to roll right. Tarn reached out, slamming the speedster's good arm in a powerful hook punch. The metal dented inwards so suddenly that Smokescreen cried out, dropping to his knees and aiming his blasters upwards. Something explosive collided with Tarn's back struts before he could get a shot in, however, covering the pair in a shower of blue fire.

"Come and get me, afthat!" Wheeljack called out, making several rude gestures to the DJD leader. Glancing down at Smokescreen, who was furiously trying to override the energy reservation shutdowns that had suddenly locked up his blasters, he took the bait, albeit not without delivering a punishing kick to the speedster below him.

"You should really work on your insults, Wrecker."

"I'm saving the good ones for later. If you really want 'em, sweetspark, you'll hafta beat 'em outta me!" he taunted jovially, as if he wasn't standing down one of the most dangerous Decepticons in the universe.

Tarn snorted, unconvinced. Glancing behind his shoulder tread at the torn open bay door of one facility building and at to one of his companions (Smokescreen had no idea who he was, or even _what_  he was), he said, "Darksteel, hurry up on contacting Lord Megatron. We will need a pick up after I deal with these hooligans."

"'Pick up'? You sure you ain't runnin' away, buddy?" Wheeljack asked, unsheathing his swords and swinging them in lazy arcs. "C'mon now, the party's barely started!"

Tarn, completely unfazed, set himself into a fighting stance before beckoning mockingly to Wheeljack. "I may have a little time to fit it into my schedule. I am a busy mech, after all."

Wheeljack split into a malicious grin, happy that his opponent was playing along. "'Course I know, killing off traitors and all that jazz. Y'know, except not 'Jazz'. Then I'd hafta really kick your aft."

"I would like to see you try," Tarn replied, and Smokescreen could've sworn he heard a hint of amusement in his voice. Why he didn't just kill them off with his voice was unknown; after all, Smokescreen knew that was what made him such an infamous executioner. They said mecha couldn't get a ship's length away without offlining from hearing his fatal notes. Smokescreen and Wheeljack were definitely less than a ship's length away, and Arcee...

"Slag," Smokescreen swore, struggling to his pedes as his processor grabbed at the idea. **::Arcee, come in. Arcee, do you read me?::**

**::Yeah, Smoke, loud and clear. What does our next Prime dictated by destiny want? I'm kind of in the middle of something!::**

**::Really? This again? Arcee, I though we got along now!::**  Smokescreen shuffled towards the decimated bay door, the Decepticon Tarn had called Darksteel with his backs struts to him.

 **::Sure, whatever you say, champ. Now, what did you want?::**  Smokescreen crept closer, optics flicking back and forth between the large Decepticon and the bank of computers he had hijacked, his frame barely small enough for the cramped room to handle. Wing-like plates attached to his shoulders flicked in annoyance, reminding Smokescreen of a Seeker.

**::You know how Tarn is supposedly able to offline mechs with his voice?::**

**::Yes. What are you getting at?::**

**::Where are you right now?::**

**::At the front. You still haven't answered my question.::**

**::I think he's going to try and lure us all together then use his voice. He hasn't even tried yet! So stay away from us, okay?::**

"I got it!" Darksteel's loud voice snapped him back to his current position. He barely had enough time to take cover behind the side of the building before the Decepticon burst forward, access cables streaming behind him like banners. "I've got them on the comms!"

Tarn, who currently had Wheeljack half-pinned in what looked like a complicated headlock, grunted in affirmation. "Relay code: alpha omega delta sector 568. Tarn hailing the _Nemesis_. Requesting a Groundbridge to current coordinates."

"Giving up already?" Wheeljack forced out, his faceplates flushed blue as energon tried to flow properly through his fuel lines. Smokescreen could see where he had clawed away the paint on Tarn's arms.

"Hm? No, my dear Wrecker, I just find that this game has grown boring, and I must take my leave." He hooked his pede behind Wheeljack's and used his body weight to shove him to the ground, his shoulder strut twisted at an odd angle as Tarn caught him in a stiff armbar. "Yield."

Wheeljack spat at his battle mask, demeanor turning stoic. "Go frag yourself."

Tarn's cannons began to glow dangerously, but before he could harm the pinned Wrecker, Smokescreen fired off a quick set of rounds, a few of which clipped him squarely in the helm. He wheeled around, EM field surging away from him dangerously. The speedster was saved by something tackling him from behind, his shoulders spasming angrily as they were pinned behind his back.

"Whoops! I didn't see you earlier!" Darksteel chittered, optics glowing brightly. He tightened his grip, claws digging themselves into sensitive transformation seams. "Heh, if I had, I would've grabbed you sooner!"

Smokescreen snarled angrily, struggling against his captor. **::Arcee? We may need backup.::**

Static. **::Arcee?::**

 _Wham_. A blue frame slammed into the ground near Smokescreen, a large beastformer triumphantly landing on top of it. Smokescreen sucked in a vent of air. That was no ordinary beastformer. It was a Predacon, wings flared and muzzle smoking. It transformed back to bipedal mode, one pede wedged firmly in Acree's side. She seemed out cold.

"Finally managed to get the femme," he said distastefully. "Are you going to snuff them now?"

A Groundbridge roared to life behind Tarn, the tank hardly sparing it a glance. "Yes. Please go through so you are out of..."

Tarn stilled as a mech stepped out of the vortex, frame sleek and slight. It was Soundwave.

He tilted his helm before pointing at the Groundbridge. **{{ _Lord Megatron: requests you leave immediately. Autobots: inferior. Threat level: low. Desist._ }}**

Smokescreen shuttered his optics in surprise. Soundwave was letting them live? Had the ruthless spymaster blown a fuse?

Tarn seemed to have the same thought. "Not that I question your judgement, Soundwave, but this would be the opportune time to cripple nearby Autobot forces. All seem to be valuable fighters."

 **{{ _Soundwave: relaying Lord Megatron's orders. Desist._ }}** At Tarn's refusal to move, Soundwave shuddered in what Smokescreen figured was his version of a sigh. His visor flickered green as he pulled up an audio playback, filling the air with Megatron's voice. **{{"Soundwave, make sure Tarn boards with his charges immediately. He is not to terminate any Autobots he is currently engaged with."}}**

The last part sounded strained, and Smokescreen heard rustling and a "not now, Primus!" before the feed cut out, leaving him to wonder why they had been spared. He wasn't allowed to wonder long, though, because a swift kick pounded his back between his doorwings, squarely hitting a dense cluster of nerves. Darksteel, making sure the speedster was debilitated enough not to follow, released him and trotted over to Tarn's side, followed by the other Predacon.

"Later, losers!" Darksteel said cheerfully, waving at them as he disappeared into the Groundbridge along with the other Decepticons, albeit Tarn going along reluctantly.

Once the vortex closed Smokescreen rolled over, wincing in pain as he activated for his comms. **::Hey, Ratchet? This is Smokescreen. Requesting med support. Also, ow.::**

* * *

****Optimus jolted awake, alarms ringing off the walls of the ship. A Vehicon stationed near his cell jumped, blaster onlining as he swung his arm towards the Prime. "Don't try anything funny!"

He snorted, flapping his wings in mock offense. Him and Megatron had made a deal, and Optimus was intent on upholding his end.

That was, until he caught a glance of the message beeping across one of the numerous monitors in Shockwave's lab. _Decepticon transmission intercepted. Requesting Groundbridge. Designations: Tarn, Darksteel, Skylynx. Currently occupied with Autobot opposition._

Optimus keened with alarm. _Tarn_! Whoever was standing off against him would be snuffed if he didn't do something! He thought of how the loss of one of the few Autobots left would affect the team, would affect him. He glanced down at the band that Megatron had secured around his arm. The warlord had said that he would be treated as a guest. Time to see if he could get some privileges.

"What?" the Vehicon asked when he pointed to the band, grunting urgently. "I can't just let you out, y'know. Lord Megatron would have my aft!"

Optimus let his EM field wash over the soldier, burning with urgency. The drone hesitated a moment, then ex-vented heavily, tapping an access code. "You'd better behave. I'm escorting you to...wherever you wanted to go."

The Prime didn't care, practically pulling the Vehicon along with him. The drone yelped when Optimus lightly clamped his jaw over his arm, light enough not to puncture, strong enough to direct him out of the lab and up towards the bridge. They got outside the bridge doors, Optimus waiting impatiently for the Vehicon to open them before bolting inside. He yelled at him to stop, startling the drones working at various monitors. Soundwave and Megatron whipped around, the latter's fusion cannon whirring to life as Optimus charged him, expecting an attack. However, rather than tackle the warlord, he skidded to a stop, distressed noises leaving his subvocalizer in an incoherent jumble.

"Optimus, calm yourself!" Megatron ordered, cannon lowering but not powering down. Optimus mewled pleadingly, claws scraping over the floor as he scrambled to get his message across. He couldn't let Tarn snuff anyone.

Soundwave, thank Primus, seemed to understand this, because he gently tapped Megatron's shoulder to gain his attention, screen lighting up as he strung together the words he needed to convey Optimus' message. **{{ _Optimus Prime: is concerned for friends' safety. Optimus Prime: must have discovered Tarn's message. Probability: saw alert on Shockwave's monitor._ }}**

Megatron's optics flicked over to Optimus. "Is this true?"

The Prime nodded frantically, once again using his field to convey his emotion. Megatron wrinkled his olfactory sensors. "You want me to spare your soldiers, Prime? Is that it? And why, pray tell, should I do that? They are warriors and are at mercy of the battlefield."

Optimus sagged in disbelief. Was all that talk of a truce fake? A lie? He growled, raising his haunches, field blistering with anger and betrayal. Of course that shared moment earlier was just a ruse to get his guard down, Megatron could never change, he'd proven that by throwing away all of his chances—

A servo landed on the top of his helm before he could notice, the tips of claws lightly rubbing against the backs of his finials in a soothing manner. Optimus shuttered his optics, a heaving gust of air leaving his vents. He didn't even realize he was leaning his helm into the touch until he felt the rumbling approval of Megatron's engine, to which he pulled back quickly, growling in embarrassment.

"However, I will make an exception this one time. After all, you have been behaving yourself during your stay." Optimus could have collapsed to the floor in relief, watching as Megatron turned back to Soundwave, saying, "Soundwave, make sure Tarn boards with his charges immediately. He is not to terminate any Autobots he is currently engaged with."

Optimus grinned, subvocalizer whirring and clicking happily, to which Megatron grumbled, pretending to be nonchalant as he waved the Prime off. "Not now, Primus! I did it to uphold our agreement."

Raising an orbital ridge, Optimus made to antagonize the warlord further when he was suddenly shooed. "You had better leave. I will talk to Tarn when he boards about your, condition, but I don't want to take any chances. LAN-C3, please take Optimus Prime back to Shockwave's lab for the time being. And quit pouting," Megatron added, pointing an accusing claw at Optimus. "I said I'd find you a room eventually, so you'll have to make do for now."

There were a few low chuckles from the drones working at the monitors, but a quick glare from Megatron silenced them. LAN-C3, the Vehicon that had been watching Optimus earlier, politely tapped him on the shoulder strut, leading him out the bridge and back down into the bowels of the ship.

"Y'know," LAN-C3 started, fiddling with his blaster as they turned down a corridor, "I don't think I've ever seen anybot have that sort of effect of Lord Megatron before. Sparing Autobots in battle? Never would've dreamed of it." The Vehicon's visor flashed as he inclined his helm, meeting Optimus' curious gaze. "To be fair, I also never thoughts I'd meet the great Optimus Prime and live. You've kinda got the whole ship spooked."

Optimus lowered his finials in regret. He knew his reputation among Decepticons, but he still wished that mechs wouldn't cower in fear at his name, opposing faction or not. That was not his purpose.

LAN-C3 must've seen this, because he quickly backtracked. "I mean, in an awed sort of way. Of course, there are the guys who are super angry that you're not, like, in the brig paying for casualties," if possible, the Prime shrunk even further, causing the Vehicon to stutter and reset his vocalizer a couple of times, "but it doesn't mean some of us aren't curious. It's war; of course mecha are going to die. It doesn't mean we should take out our anger on someone who is doing us no harm currently."

Optimus wanted to tell him that was a very wise mentality, and that he should be proud. Not many others shared that ideology. However, all that came out was a guttural whir.

The Prime couldn't see LAN-C3's smile, but he knew it was there all the same. They reached the hall leading to Shockwave's lab, the Vehicon punching in the access code and leading him to his cell. "Sorry about this, but you know how it goes."

Optimus shrugged and laid down, watching as LAN-C3 reactivated the energon bars. He rested his helm on his front servos, starting up the defrag process, recharge pulling at him insistently. He was unwilling to give into it, at first, but then his processor drudged up the memory of a servo gently caressing his finals, playing with wires that had been left untouched for eons, and he found he could no longer resist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehehe there. Have your rushed and poorly done chapter. I promise giant robot hazing and general panic in the next chapter. (Also Soundwave is the master of zen)
> 
> And on a side note, thank you all for the publicity this has been getting! I appreciate the comments and fanart and even the little kudos! Thank you from the depths of my nonexistent soul, and I'm glad you enjoyed! Just keep on telling me what you want, and I'll deliever!


	12. Lair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAVE THIS IM SORRY ITS LATE ITS LITERALLY 1 IN THE MORNING IM SO SORRY ENJOY SOME IMPORTANT FILLER I PROMISE NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE BETTER OK
> 
> ILL MAYBE EDIT THIS LATE IDK
> 
> ALSO THANK YOU QUETZACOATALS FOR ANOTHER AWESOME PIECE OF FANART: http://thespiritofcliffhangers.tumblr.com/post/149960274547/another-bit-of-fanart-for-a-fic-ive-been

Megatron stood facing the Groundbridge with his servos clasped behind his back, claws tapping his wristplating restlessly. Prior to Tarn comming the Nemesis, Megatron had been fully prepared to enjoy the night cycle with a barrel of fine oil from his stash and a Pre-War datapad. Now all he had was Shockwave's ever-level field scooting closer and the curious buzz of Vehicons behind him.

Soundwave emerged first, closely followed by Tarn and two Predacons. The warlord raised an orbital ridge as he examined the dust and mud caking their armor, organic bits falling from transformation seams onto the deck. He faintly noticed the charred smell that hung thick around the three and cast a skeptical glance at a spool of data cables that had been hastily wrapped around one of the Predacon's wrists. He caught Megatron looking and his field crackled with embarrassment, his yellow optics quickly training themselves on the ground.

"My liege," Tarn said, giving him a respectful salute as he bowed his helm. "My apologies for the delay. We ran into a few Autobots on the way."

Megatron waived him off, grunting a quick "It happens", turning his attention back to the two new soldiers. Shockwave, sensing his interest, quickly moved between the pair. "My liege, allow me to introduce you to my successful clone subjects. The one to my right is Skylynx." The taller of the pair bowed, his voice deep as he said, "Sir."

"And on my left is Darksteel." The Predacon with the mess of data cables on his arm grinned happily, his fangs blaming silver in the low lighting. He gave a cheery wave, but quickly froze when he felt Skylynx and Tarn's disapproval. "Oops! My bad. Pleasure to meet you, sir!" He bowed awkwardly, flinching when some of the cables unwound and clattered to the floor, limply hanging from his medical port.

Megatron resisted the urge to sigh and scrub his faceplate, glancing at the Vehicons who were pretending to work behind him. "One of you, go and retrieve Predaking from the upper decks. He will be quite interested in our new additions."

The Vehicons muttered and jabbed each other, reluctant to go and fetch him. This time Megatron really did sigh, his engine growling dangerously. " _Now_."

One broke away from the rest, practically tripping over himself to leave the bridge. Tarn's vents puffed in amusement. "They never change, do they?"

"You have yet to see who I told them to retrieve," Megatron said lowly, challenging the executioner with a level stare. As incompetent and infuriatingly thick as they could be, his soldiers were not ones to be taken lightly. Most of the time, they were very capable servos to have around when given solid direction and motivation.

But Megatron would never say that.

It seemed like no time at all until heavy footfalls could be heard, the bridge doors hissing open to reveal Predaking, his optics dim and unfocused from being hastily arisen from recharge. The Vehicon that had been sent to get him squeezed around his large frame, shivering profusely and returning to his position behind one of the monitors. Judging by the spooked air in his field, Predaking in the late hours of the night was not an attractive thing to rouse.

"You called, Lord Megatron?" His frame shifted as his vents lazily sucked in air, an imitation of a human yawn.

"Yes. Would you mind taking these two up to your...hanger, and making them comfortable?" Predaking growled sleepily, his optics spiraling and refocusing several times as he muttered obscenities, most likely about getting stuck with recruit duty so late in the cycle. He walked further onto the bridge, massive arms reaching upwards in a stretch, only to freeze in place when he finally saw who he was to be escorting.

"My liege, I do not understand. These are...Predacons, yes?" He glanced down at Megatron (who pushed aside the flash of irritation at having to look up slightly) in wonder. "The rumors about my creator making more were true?"

"Yes," Shockwave intoned. He had been so quiet during the whole thing that Megatron had nearly forgotten that he was there.

Predaking gave the warlord a quick grin. "I will see to their utmost comfort, my liege. Do you want me to introduce them to—"

"That will be all," Megatron interrupted, field spiking in warning. Predaking's intake snapped shut, optics darting between him and Tarn, who stood nearby, flashing with understanding. He gave a quick bow. "Of course."

He then extended his servo to the other Predacons. "Come. We have much to discuss as you get settled. "

Skylynx gave him an untrusting look, only for Darksteel to snort and push him forward. He gave the assembled mechs one last cheery wave before the three Predacons disappeared from the bridge, and only then was it that Megatron turned to Tarn, sensing the smallest flickers of apprehension in his sheltered EM field. "My liege, is there another Predacon onboard that I was unaware of?"

The warlord growled mentally. He wasn't going to enjoy this night cycle at all.

* * *

Ratchet's vents hitched when he saw the condition Smokescreen was in. The young cadet's paint was scuffed and missing in some places, both of his arms were limp and twisted at odd angles, and he was kicking part of what looked like his shoulder plating through the Groundbridge due to his inability to pick it up. Wheeljack wasn't too far behind, an unconscious Arcee in his arms. The two had seen better days.

"Set her down on the berth," he snapped, rushing over to their makeshift medbay and rummaging around for his (alarmingly dwindling) supply of repair nanites. Ratchet wasted no time in scooping some into injectors, giving small doses to his patients before overriding Arcee's medical port and hard wiring himself into her neural net. He released a puff of air when he saw the internal damage wasn't as bad as her paintjob.

He released a low growl, however, when he felt Smokescreen at his shoulder, trying to get a peek at Arcee's vitals. The cadet reluctantly backed off, his field drawn in tight with worry as he plopped himself on their backup medical berth. Only after stabilizing the femme did Ratchet move on to Smokescreen, who offered up his medical port without protest. A quick systems check revealed that he had torn his protoform in several places, had a major mesh lesion on his upper right arm, and had crushed a few secondary energon lines in his servos. His injuries couldn't wait to be tended to later. The medic sighed as he glanced at Wheeljack apologetically, the Wrecker shrugging off a rare brush from Ratchet's field, instead asking, "Where's Bulk and Ultra Pain-In-The-Aftus? We really could'a used the extra blasters."

Ratchet ignored the comment and turned back to Smokescreen's mangled plating, preparing to remove a few of the pieces for repair and so he could access the damage underneath. "Soon after your left, another Decepticon hotspot cropped up overseas, in a small island nation or whatnot. They took Bumblebee with them when they went to check it out, but I'm hoping it's another energon mine. Primus knows we're on our last dregs from our emergency stores."

"You're the one' the least upliftin' bots I've ever had the pleasure of knowin', Doc."

"Well, I'm sorry I'm not Optimus," he grumbled in response, the remark having more bite than he meant. When Wheeljack didn't respond, Ratchet stole a quick glance behind him, only to see the Wrecker silent and huddled in on himself, a lost look in his optics.

"Never said you were, Doc." He straightened and the vulnerability was gone, quickly shoved down in a manner perfected by vorns of practice. "I'm gonna wait for the mechs get to back. Might do a little driving in the meantime. Want anything?"

Ratchet made a few incoherent grumbles, his servo transforming into a welder and sparking to life. There was a weight on his shoulder. "And Doc, you might not be Prime, but you're doin' your best. Stop grindin' yourself down like this."

The weight dropped lower and gave him a friendly slap on the aft. "After all, you need to be in workable condition for when we see Drift again. I promised that fragger that I'd make sure you would keep yourself outta trouble. I don't wanna be sliced to ribbons if you end up nothing more that a few pieces of pessimistic protoform."

The medic squawked, brandishing the welder at the Wrecker. "I'm am in _the middle_ of a delicate surgery, thank you very much. Now, enough with your nonsense and get out!"

Wheeljack chuckled and transformed, barely dodging the wrench that flew over his roof as he sped out of the hanger. Ratchet flared his plating, trying to expel the sudden and unexplainable puff of heat choking his protoform.

"Who's Drift?" The medic whirled around, waving his welder threateningly at his patient that he had forgotten about.

"Quiet! Not another glyph out of that voicebox, or you can say goodbye to that paintjob of yours!"

Ratchet wasn't serious, of course, but he had never witnessed Smokescreen be so quiet before, yet look so smug at the same time. Frag those younglings and their excitement at a whiff of romance.

* * *

Optimus shuttered his optics uncertainly, his internal chronometer registering half a solar cycle after the Tarn incident as he trailed behind a Vehicon officer. This one he had seen in Shockwave's lab quite often and knew as S1M-0N. He fidgeted nervously as he led the Prime deeper into the ship, mumbling and wringing his servos together. He finally stopped outside what looked to be the doors to a mess hall, leaving Optimus confused. He could've sworn that was above him by several levels, and not located so close to the engines for higher ranking officers.

S1M-0N turned his double visor on the Prime, the red bands glowing brightly, oddly mischievous despite the anxiousness clouding his field. "So, uh, we're here."

Optimus vented loudly in exasperation. So far this mech had told him nothing of what their little trip was about, and while that should have unnerved him to no end, Optimus found himself more or less intrigued. Despite their differences, he had a good sense very few mechs would dare take a shot at him, lest they would like to disobey the Mighty Megatron's direct orders.

The Vehicon gave a little squeak, flinching away from Optimus. He cleared his intake sheepishly. "Lord Megatron said that you would be treated as a guest while onboard, so LAN-C3 had asked Soundwave if it was alright to let you out for a bit on a regular basis, discounting data collection routines." S1M-0N reached behind him and tapped a panel set into the wall, a set of doors grinding open noisily. "Just so you know, Lazerbeak will be watching in case you try anything."

Optimus rolled his optics but stepped inside, his optics spiraling and dilating as they struggled to readjust to surprisingly brighter lighting. The room was rather large, able to hold a few dozen mechs comfortably. Quickly cobbled together mesh spreads dotted the edge of the space, a cross between Earth loveseats and Cybertronian couches and almost all taken by Vehicons and Eradicons alike. A low grade energon dispenser was at the back of the room, clean cubes stacked neatly nearby. Several tables were set up in the middle of the room. Most seemed like playing tables for gambling or a popular game of strategy, like the one a pair of elite Eradicons were engrossed with nearby. Optimus was surprised to find what looked like a human game, a mesh net strung across the middle and paddles made from old energon crates sitting idly, waiting for the next round. The Prime recalled Miko asking for Fowler to allow one in the hanger, the agent starkly refusing until all three children, Bumblebee, and Smokescreen had heckled him into submission.

All soldiers in the room quieted, voices dropping off into hushed whispers as numerous optical bands were turned on Optimus. While crowds normally didn't bother him, these Decepticons did, the tension drawn taughter than an Altean ion bowstring. Optimus felt his plating pull in tightly as he glowered at the gathered mechs distrustfully. S1M-0N had taken him to the rec room, where drones who's close friends and trine mates had fallen against his faction, many by his servo, came to try and forget their troubles and rest for a tick or two. Thankfully, the uncomfortable silence was broken by LAN-C3, who stood and waved him over. Optimus weaved through the crowd, feeling their optics follow him before eventually dropping, the noise level slowly returning to a dull chatter.

The Prime sat next to LAN-C3 like one may next to a Quintesson; stiffly and on guard. He appreciated the Vehicon's efforts, he really did, but his plating still itched from the burn of all those optics. LAN-C3, however, seemed blissfully ignorant to his discomfort, instead jabbering away to another mech on his right. As subtly as he could, Optimus cast him a glance. Nothing special, this frame, save for the numerous amount of scuffs and scars that Optimus imagined must drive Knock Out a wall whenever he passed him by. He was a standard Eradicon, probably Manufactured for a bodyguard position or such before the War.

"—and that's why I say Steve's gotta few bolts jangling around up in his processor. No one can go through that much of a scrapping from Screamer and still be running hot for him." The Eradicon snorted as LAN-C3 finished, his gaze turning to Optimus. He inclined his helm in greeting.

"Optimus Prime. How nice to meet such an infamous enemy to the Cause." His glyphs were thick with sarcasm, to which LAN-C3 gave him a sharp jab to his mid-section. The flier merely waved it off, a half-empty cube of low grade swirling in his clawed servo. "Eh, frag off. The name's Tail-Shot. Welcome aboard the Nemesis."

"He's already gone through that, afthelm," LAN-C3 grumbled, his vents huffing angrily. A tittering caught Optimus' attention to the familiar minicon deployer perched behind Tail-Shot, wings rising in amusement.

"Primus, Lazerbeak, knock it off." Tail-Shot sent a half-sparked whack behind him, missing Soundwave's trusty deployer and hitting the aft of a Vehicon standing nearby. The victim gave a startled yelp, those around him bursting into raucous laughter. Tail-Shot got a scandalized cuff upside the audial receptor for his troubles.

Optimus chuckled, engine rumbling mirthfully. He ignored the flier's glare as Lazerbeak zipped around him and onto the Prime's shoulder, whirring gleefully as they wedged themselves into a more comfortable position, far away from the threat that was Tail-Shot's servos.

Optimus jumped when a few chips were tossed in front of him. He recognized them as pieces used in a popular gambling game, outlawed in the Autobot army due to the amount of fighting over lost bets and stolen credits. It was apparently still around and flourishing in the Decepticon ranks.

"Ever gambled before? Or is the high and mighty Prime above all that?" Tail-Shot asked, his vocalizer clicking in challenge. Optimus snorted. He might be a Prime now, but he had certainly been a foolish youngling before. One who had fraternized with the gladiators of Kaon, no less.

Another pang of loss tugged at his spark as he clumsily pulled the pieces toward him. Tail-Shot emitted a low tone akin to a human' whistle, and Optimus could practically feel his smirk. "Alrighty, then. Know how to play?"

The Prime thumped his tail against the deck in confirmation. He had a split-second where a line of rational code ran through his processor—this has gone too far! Do not assimilate, do not—but it was interrupted as Tail-Shot slammed a red chip roughly the size of his palm on the makeshift table. Optimus recognized it as the highest value chip, silently watching as a few more Decepticons placed their wagers, some setting down credits while others set down playing chips. The pile grew until it was a hoard of engex, credits, and an odd assortment of Earthen trinkets, the most bizarre of which was a winged purple plush Optimus recognized from a cartoon Miko made Bulkhead watch every week.

The Prime shifted slightly, adding a few of his less valuable chips to the pile. (Pushed was a better word, what with his lack of coordination and the claws). A mere tick later had LAN-C3 cackling and pulling the stack of bets towards him. Tail-Shot groaned and a few of the others grumbled, though Optimus could feel the good nature behind it.

They played a few more rounds, and by that time Optimus had obtained quiet the haul, the purple cartoon character sitting proudly atop his pile. He raised an orbital ridge when he caught one of the drones looking at it, so he tossed it into the pool, grinning at the speed the Vehicon slammed down his winning chips and snatched the toy. The table burst into laughter, only to abruptly die out. Optimus cocked his helm in confusion, craning his neck to try and see what had caused the sudden spike of fear in the fields of the drones.

"Ah, Soundwave, sir. What a rare pleasure!"

Oh.

No sooner was his designation spoken did Optimus meet the visor of the spymaster, who cocked his helm. An awkward silence seemed to stretch out between them, several vocalizers clearing in staticky bursts. Finally, he straightened, and played a spliced audio clip. **{{ _Soundwave: requests for Optimus Prime to follow_ }}**

Optimus shuttered his optics, glancing around at the drones at his table. They looked just as confused as he did, though they kept to themselves. Tail-Shot shifted, sheepishly saying, "Well, I call his pile if he's leaving."

This caused an argument to ensue, and Optimus sent a grateful look in the flier's direction. He didn't know what Soundwave needed him for, but he certainly didn't need even _more_ attention drawn to him at this point. Now everybody was focused on his rather sizable earnings, to the point where violence was beginning to break out. Optimus thought about intervening, but before he could even twitch Soundwave had given him a light tap on the shoulder and gestured for him to follow.

The spymaster directed him from the rec room, dodging an empty energon cube that soared across the room and slipping out of the doors with the grace of an Earth feline. He then trailed down a multitude of hallways, the pattern foreign and unfamiliar until they reached what Optimus recognized as the officers' quarters. They entered one of the larger suites, and Optimus was greeted by a strangely cozy habisuite. The walls were even more sparsely decorated than Megatron's; in fact, the only thing Optimus saw was a poster with a turbokitten hanging from a pipe, the glyphs under its dangling paws reading, "Just hang in there!"

Soft music played from the simple console on the far wall (one of the Empyrean Suites, thought Optimus) accompanied the gentle warmth that contrasted the cold halls of the Nemesis. Still confused as to why he had been brought to Soundwave's habisuite, Optimus clicked his subvocalizer questioningly. He got no answer; rather, a cube of mid-grade was sat in front of him and the spymaster sat across from him in the lone chair in the room, his visor focused on Optimus. **{{ _Soundwave: in charge of making observations of Optimus Prime's mental state. Also: symbionts did not believe Soundwave when stated that Optimus Prime was on board._ }}**

No sooner were the words said than two blurs streaked past Soundwave and up to Optimus. A deployer with purple paint and a wide optic band stared at the Prime, intake agape. "Whoa! You were right! He is a Predacon!"

"Of course he was right. Why wouldn't he be?" The other blur retorted. This one had a darker paintjob and a pouty faceplate. Optimus snorted, startling the two symbionts.

"He's not gonna eat us, is he?" The purple one asked. "I heard Autobots eat Decepticon protoforms for breakfast!"

Optimus gave the youngling an incredulous look, and Soundwave shifted in what the Prime thought was his version of a laugh. **{{ _Soundwave: highly doubts that. Rumble and Frenzy: should try and be polite. Teach him hat we discussed_.}}**

Optimus felt his spark rate hitch. He was going to learn something about the Decepticons. Although, the looks the symbionts were giving him have him chills. They looked slightly too predatory.

But, then again, so did Optimus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And again, sorry for the absolutely crap ending, but I'm gonna collapse soon so yeah...
> 
> On the other note, we'll be gettin Predaking dad in the next chapter! Lots of it! And if you've got stuff you wanna see, just put it in the comments below or slide into the dms on my tumblr @cambionnation


	13. Arc 2: Gravity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah! I'm back and alive with a hella long update!!! Wooooo
> 
> Big thanks to Quetzacoatals for being lovely and harassing me into this chapter! Thanks my friend ;)
> 
> As you can probably tell from the text below, I finally got off my butt and (kinda sorta not really) made a (rough) skeleton of how I want the story to go, and I ended up splitting it into arcs. I plan to have about three, so hold your cyberstallions, I'm nowhere near done yet!
> 
> Now accept my return from the grave with what I hope is passable comedy!

**Arc 2**

_"...I told him a story of two people. Two people who shouldn't have met,_

_and who didn't like each other much when they did,_

_but who_ _found_ _they were the only two people in the world_

_who could have possibly understood each other."_

_**—Jojo Meyers, Me Before You**_

 

The lone jet was quite out of place in the open expanse of space. Purple plating gently reflected the light of far away stars, the smooth alt-mode easily dodging chunks of debris. Darkness was a friend, a comfort, silent and present in a way that didn't intrude. Until:

**::Whirly bird to purple people eater. Whirly bird to purple people eater. Purple people eater, do you copy::**

Ah yes, the quite expanse of space with its silent stars, whispers of beauty spun in gentle flames—

 **::OI, CYCLONUS, DO YOU COPY?::**  The sheer volume of the transmission shattered any illusion at ignorance, and the jet flinched into bipedal mode, nearly avoiding a rather humiliating collision with a stray asteroid.

 **::What do you want, Whirl? Other than to harass me to the Pit.::**  Cyclonus attempted to remain level-helmed, though the increase of heavy ventilation a on the other end of the comm line was beginning to irritate him to no end. Honestly, couldn't a mech enjoy a quick flight to stretch his wings while his partner was out on an errand run?

Speaking of which...

 **::Ahaha, just checking in, _pal_. Also, your little blueberry muffin is gonna be home from his shopping trip with the cap soon. Just in case you wanted to know, of course.::**  Cyclonus could practically feel that fragger's smirk, despite the fact the mech didn't have an intake. **::'Ey, my mech. You gonna propose to your little sweetspark yet? Or are you gonna leave us hanging? Because I have a bet with a Wrecker friend of mine way back on Earth, and frankly, those credits are _mine_.::**

 **::Please do not gamble on my personal affairs, Whirl. It is highly unprofessional and I would encourage you against it.::** The warbuild transformed and leisurely swooped towards the speck that was the _Lost Light_. **::Unless you'd like to end up on the other end of my blade, that is.::**

**::Aw! Are you finally gonna let me join in with you and your little muffin? How sweet, Cyclonus! You do have a spark!::**

**::Watch it, Whirl. I could very well—::**  A high powered laser shot past his starboard wing, narrowly missing the sensitive appendage by microns. Cyclonus barrel rolled and shot up, unable to get a good look at his attacker. **::Whirl, it appears I have company.::**

 **::Oh, thank Primus himself _finally_. Probably just a salty merch ship, but still, _finally_.:: ** The rapidly approaching form of the _Lost Light_  lit up with return fire, and Cyclonus could feel the heat of a silent explosion on his stabilizers. He pulled ahead, just far enough so that he had space to bank into a turn. His spark caught in its chamber.

**::Whirl...::**

**::Oh, slag,::** the rotary breathed into the comm link. **::Not a salty merch ship. Get in. _Now_.::**

Cyclonus wasted no time in entering the _Lost Light_ ' _s_ hangar. He transformed before the bay doors had even fully closed, and took off to the control bridge. Whirl was already there, tapping away at controls furiously, an exhausted-yet-determined Rung at his side. What with it being the night cycle and the supply run to a nocturnal planet, he wasn't surprised with the lack of officers. It didn't help ease the clenching in his spark, though.

"Contact Rodimus and make a quantum leap. No arguments! Just do it!" Cyclonus snuck a glance out the viewport at the colossal battle class ship approaching them, its hull singed by Whirl's laser fire. The mark on the side was barely visible, save for the lone painted tentacle appearing out of the scorched metal. Cyclonus rarely ever swore, but allowed himself a quick "frag" before turning to Whirl. "Get us out of range!"

"What about the captain and the others?" asked Rung.

"We'll double back. They've already been alerted, correct?" Rung nodded. Cyclonus felt his spark squeeze a bit tighter at the thought of leaving his partner behind, but shook it off. They would be fine.

Whirl shrieked, a noise half-frustration, half-ecstasy, and the quantum drive leapt to life. The battle ship disappeared from view through the haze of stars, leaving Cyclonus venting hard after their narrow escape. One thing was for sure; an ever-present threat had resurfaced, and it just made the damn war that much harder.

* * *

The transfer student tugged on the sleeves of her overly large sweatshirt, her fidgety posture betraying her anxiety. She'd been in Samantha's class how long? It had been over a year, right? She always hung out with Jack and that middle schooler who took high school courses.

Samantha watched her out of the corner of her eye. The pink dye in her hair was beginning to bleach out, and there were dark circles under her eyes. Blunt nails assaulted her thigh as they waited on the curb, beating against the fabric of her jeans in a timeless rhythm. She was worrying her bottom lip as she trembled in the cool fall air, tugging her sweatshirt closer as a gust of wind blew past them. Samantha tore her eyes away and unlocked her phone, glancing through her text messages. Her mom was too sick to help her practice driving for her temps, so Johnny was going to pick her up instead. She gave an irritated snort as she flicked through his profile; good neighbor as he may seem to be, he was still a delinquent, and a late one at that. She wished Jack had been interested in her. She would much rather be riding home one that gorgeous motorcycle of his.

A powerful engine rumbled against the pavement, making Samantha glance up from her phone. The car it belonged to definitely wasn't Johnny's supped up hunk of junk. Sleek, low to the ground, painted in aesthetically pleasing blues and golds with double 38s on the doors. It looked like sometching straight off of a NASCAR track. Samantha's eyes widened in disbelief as it rolled to a stop in front of of the exchange student, just far enough away that Samantha couldn't make out the driver.

The passenger side door swung up, not unlike those on a foreign model, and Jack's friend unceremoniously flung her backpack inside. She gave the roof of the car an affectionate little pat, mumbling something too low for her to make out. A clear-cut young man's voice responded with an apology. The girl stepped halfway in to the sports car before she realized that she was being watched. They looked at each other, and only then did Samantha remember her name. Miko Nakadai. She got a clear look at her face too, and recognized the mask that suddenly seemed dangerously close to breaking. It was one solely reserved for when a loved one was lost.

Samantha gave Miko a small smile, her hand raising in a parting wave. The girl blinked slowly, the corner of her lips turning up in a weary smile, and she returned the wave. Funny, Samantha remembered her to be boisterous, ready to take on the world. Now...

The roar of a racer's engine caused her thoughts to flee, and she could do nothing but watch as the car drove out of the school parking lot, bouncing over the curb before jetting down the street, as if trying to shake loose the misery of its passenger.

* * *

It was nearing the two week mark. Ratchet groaned and scrubbed his faceplates, leaning heavily on the main computer console. Despite his half-sparked protests, Rafael had gone with Bumblebee and Bulkhead on a scouting mission in the outskirts of Rome, making up an excuse about how he was ahead in his school work and wouldn't mind missing a day to see the Colosseum. Ultra Magnus and Wheeljack were on the other side of the equator, following a weak energon signature in the near-barren plateaus of Australia. Arcee, still in medical stasis, was at his back struts, her soft vents barely audible in the open hanger.

Muttering something incoherent, the medic stretched, only to resettle himself on the console. With the lack of Decepticon activity, thank the Allspark, and everyone out of the base, he _had_ been watching an Earth show on Miko's streaming account; however, after numerous solar cycles like this, he had already watched the entire thing through and was stuck in what the humans called a "show-hole". What he was left with was boredom and a painful gnawing sensation at the back of his processor that came from extensive periods of unproductive activity. He had tried to tidy up the makeshift medbay, but reorganizing the repair nanites only worked the first five times. He was getting sloppy without Optimus, that was for sure. Miranda Bailey would not approve.

He pulled up the main page of the computer terminal for the umpteenth time that solar cycle, lethargically tapping on the crudely painted Cybertronian keys in a fashion he had hear Raf refer to once as "pecking". He was met with the sum of his failures at being a leader. Decoding the downloaded Decepticon information that had been snatched from the _Nemesis_  after several botched missions? Nope. Trying to glean information on Tarn's previous whereabouts and find a way that might actually protect his Autobots from the Phase Sixer? Why did he even bother; just the rumors and stories made him want to purge his tanks.

A small Autobot icon blinked red in the lower corner of his screen, the modified version of Solus Prime's face glaring accusingly from its spot on a badge. Ratchet glanced away with the force of an impudent sparkling.

It only took about three Earth seconds for him to return his attention to it. Venting in defeat, he brought up the message, his optics meeting with a red paint job bright enough to rival Knock Out's—if Knock Out had constantly flung himself in front of humans to protect them from organic debris. The thought of that stuck-up excuse for a medic doing such a thing made him snort in amusement.

 _Autobot Rescue Team Alpha: Griffin Rock, reporting._  Heatwave cleared his intake, shuffling his pedes nervously. Ratchet nearly scolded the kid, then remembered that it was a recording. _Besides the occasional human-made disaster, we are holding up fine. Everyone's new alt-mode is in suitable condition: we would like to thank you for that request for a medical check up, but deny it; things are good enough that we should be alright for the moment._ Ratchet rolled his optics. Sure, they might be without half the medbay, but it didn't mean that he wouldn't do standard check-up procedure on them eventually. Optimus had approached him about it before going missing; while he was hesitant to work on Dinobots (thank _Primus_  they weren't anything like Grimlock, because he might have to jettison himself into space if that were to happen), he had his obligations as a medic, and those newsparks hadn't been looked at since landing on Earth. If it wasn't for the massive energon deficiency cutting Groundbridge usage to a minimum and the fact he was the only fragging Autobot medic on the planet, he would've already gone to Maine and scolded them to the Pit.

 _However, I would like to ask a question, Outpost Omega 1._ The firetruck glanced at his servos. _We may have picked up on we believe is Decepticon radio chatter. We would like to confirm; is it true that Optimus Prime has been..._ He gave the recorder a confused look as he searched for a way to phrase his question. _Well, it was hard to decipher, but is it true he is not currently present? Please respond as soon as possible so we may compare notes. Heatwave, out._

Ratchet sat up at that. They had been without news of Optimus for too long. Several attempts to return to the mine where he had last been seen had been made, but each time they were barely able to escape the clutches of the Decepticons stationed there. Heatwave must have stumbled upon the frequency, because Ratchet had been trying to find it since the night Optimus had gone missing. Unless it had been revealed on purpose. The medic's plating crawled at that, a whole host of terrible scenarios flooding his processor.

He glanced at the "return call" option, innocently glowing green on the large screen. He sent a ping to Smokescreen, who had picked Miko up from school today after remedial lessons. He didn't want her walking in on his impending conversation. Ratchet didn't think he could face her if Heatwave confirmed his worst suspicions.

* * *

Kade was about to take a bite of his sandwich when Heatwave banked sharply to the right, causing Kade to fumble and nearly drop his lunch all over the firetruck's dashboard. "Hey! Watch it, will you?"

Heatwave's sirens screamed to life as he took off down the street in the direction of the firehouse. Kade's free hand shot down and clenched his seat as they whirled through a turn and past several stop lights. "Heatwave! What the _hell_ —!" He yelled as they sped through the barely opened doors, the firetruck transforming into his bipedal mode and hitting the switch to enter the basement all in one movement. Heatwave bounced impatiently from pede to pede, jostling Kade so much that he felt sick. He tried several times to get his partner's attention, resorting to banging on his windshield before getting a reaction. He was let out wordlessly, but when Kade opened his mouth to speak, he was silenced with a harsh glare. "There was an urgent request on my comms coming from Optimus' base."

"Oh..." Heatwave left him behind, sprinting towards their dingy control room like he was a speedster. He slammed the blue "answer call" button with way more force than necessary. "Autobot Rescue Tea—"

"Shove the formalities, Heatwave." It was the infamous Ratchet the Hatchet who greeted him, optics cold and mouth set in a straight line. "Get straight to it. I want to hear what you think you know."

"Right." Heatwave compiled a datapacket and sent it over the connection. "At approximately 2:34 a.m. Earth time yesterday, our tech specialist Boulder was experimenting with different radio frequencies. He seemed to have discovered a low power signal used between mining drones that seem to somewhere further north than us. They were talking about Optimus, that much is certain; however, the specifics are hard to make out. Most of the feed is corrupted by Earth's sedimentary layers."

Heatwave played the recording, watching Kade slink into the room out of the corner of his optic. His engines growled dangerously, the human blinking up at him like a deer in the headlights. Looks like they were going to have to have a conversation on privacy rules regarding high priority Autobot missions. Again.

_Unit V-1CT09...mine Delta-42...the Prime?_

_Negative. Wasn't he...by Lord Megatron?_  Heatwave cast a sidelong glance at Ratchet, watching the way the medic's plating drew close, as if he was protecting himself. His optics were offline, and his vents were shallow.

 _Affirmative..._ Nemesis _...believe...of value. Please. Probably there for a good frag..._  The recording clicked off, and Heatwave watched as Ratchet ruffled his plating. "Well, it doesn't mean he has joined the Allspark, that's for sure."

Heatwave vented in relief. At least he wasn't the only one who thought Optimus was still online. The first time the others had heard the transmission, Blades had gone into a fit and Chase and Boulder had looked like kicked cyberpuppies.

Ratchet scrubbed at his faceplates. "Primus, Optimus, what did you do?" The medic then made optic contact with Heatwave. "How prepared is your sector in the event your team is absent for an extended period of time?"

"Well enough, but I would prefer to not leave it until ordered to carry out a mission, sir. This island has quite a history with getting itself into dangerous situations."

Ratchet almost seemed to smile at that. Or maybe it was just the old bot cleaning out his vents in a gust of air. "Make any necessary preparations. I want you all on high alert. We may need your assistance if we locate Optimus."

"Of course. Sir, is there anything else we can do to help?" Heatwave balled his servos. To many, Optimus Prime was a figurehead for the Autobots. Before Heatwave had met the legend, he had stood in that place as well. But after becoming personally acquainted, he found that Optimus was too heavy a price to pay in this war. They needed his leadership, his island of calm in an ocean of chaos. He may have never gotten the chance to be a proper soldier, but he would happily lay down his function for it if the need to rescue Optimus arose.

"Keep your optics peeled and audials tuned to maximum strength. We need every available resource to track him down as soon as possible." Ratchet finally noticed Kade, optics cycling to focus on his garish yellow attire. Heatwave moved to shield him from view; the last thing he needed was a lecture from the Hatchet. But the medic just smiled. "You have a very capable partner indeed. I'm no Optimus, but I can see how much the two of you have learned from one another. Ratchet, out."

The feed cut, and the room darkened.

* * *

Tarn's engines growled dangerously before quieting, his optics narrowing into slits as Megatron finished his story. "With all due respect, my lord, keeping a Prime onboard and online would only jeopardize the rest of us."

The warbuild in front of him vented softly, only a hint of annoyance perceivable in his field. "Tarn, I understand that you would view this situation in such a way, but think of it as an opportunity. A very interesting one at that."

Tarn crossed his arms. "My lord, you essentially gave Prime a new kind of frame, one bred for combat, and then turn around and expect him to be docile? To forgo four million stellar cycles of war, to believe that no harm will be done to him and vice versa? I understand you two held a relationship in the past—"

"Tarn," Megatron said his name with a low growl, powerful flightframe engines punctuating the syllable with a rumble.

"My apologies. I overstepped." Tarn bowed his helm and pulled his plating in to seem nonthreatening . "I do not approve of this whatsoever, but it is your decision, and I, your ever-faithful servant have no right to defy you."

There was a moment of awkward silence before Megatron reached for the stack of datapads on the table the two were sitting at. He booted one up, optics sliding over the screen in nonchalance as he changed the subject. "At least you report in a timely fashion, unlike that lunatic Overlord."

"Thank you, my lord." Megatron grunted an affirmative, finishing the datapad and moving on to the next.

"As much as I appreciate the thought, Tarn, why aren't you with the rest of your crew on the _Peaceful Tyranny_? Do you really expect me to believe that you would come to Earth just to turn in your reports in person? Other than that little Predacon milk run, that is."

Tarn smiled behind his mask, though he was uncertain on what a _milk run_ was. "Why, my lord, I figured our defenses in Cybertron's solar system had already alerted you, but I wanted to make sure."

Megatron looked up from the datapad, optics shining in vicious interest. Oops, it seems that one bartender out on Arturius was now on The List. Megatron's voice was dangerously controlled when he asked "Alert me of what?"

The smile only grew as Tarn carefully maneuvered the most recent datapad out from under the stack and handed it to his lord. He had organized it by reverse chronological order, oldest reports on top. He did try to be civil, unlike the rest of the Phase Sixers.

Megatron's optics widened as he swore. He stood, Tarn following suite. The almost made it out of the meeting room they had occupied when an explosion rocked the ship.

* * *

"Autobots?" Darksteel asked, wings perking up in excitement as the _Nemesis_  rocked in Earth's upper atmosphere.

"Unlikely," Shockwave responded, single optic trained on the roof of his lab. "Analysis of their lack of activity points to a dwindling amount of resources, meaning they most likely they don't have the energon to fuel an ion canon, which would be needed to— _oomph_."

"Sorry," Darksteel pulled himself off of Shockwave, who had conveniently served as a padded surface after the ship shook a second time. The scientist rolled his optic to the best of his ability as he steadied himself. "You are forgiven."

Shockwave waved Predaking over, pointing at the half-finished experiment sitting on his lab table. "Make sure none of that spills. It would make such a dreadful mess."

The Predacon wrinkled his faceplate in disgust before bracing the table, Darksteel bouncing over to assist him. Before he could tell the younger and much more eccentric creation no, there was another rock, and Shockwave's vidscreen lit up. "Shockwave! Report!"

The scientist turned, vocalizer clicking and letting out a bleat of static as the _Nemesis_ nearly rolled horizontally. My, if his emotional core had still been intact, he would have been quite embarrassed.

"Prime! I knew it!" Tarn's enchanting voice roared over the transmission, causing Shockwave's spark to constrict painfully. The damn Phase Sixer had activated his powers. And judging by the full body flinch Megatron had just experienced, he had them dialed up to maximum output.

"Tarn! Shut up and desist! That is an order!" Once the purple menace had calmed down, Megatron vented and turned back to Shockwave. "What is going on?"

The scientist tapped in a few commands into his console, watching as data flashed across a separate screen. "It appears to be a solar storm. A powerful one at that. It is illogical to believe Optimus Prime has nothing to do with this, unless the Matrix allows him to control stars, which is highly unlikely."

"You never knoOW!" Tarn had started to interject when the ship shook again, this time so hard the two large mechs crashed to the floor in a heap on limbs. Predaking snorted in amusement, and Darksteel giggled. He was about to snap at them to stop when he realized that the gravity stabilizers seemed to malfunction. Which meant...

The table with his experiment slid free as the floor became close to vertical, crashing into the wall and sending the remains of some mech's energon flying everywhere. Darksteel yelped and hit the wall hard, quickly followed by his brother, and then only for the two to be squashed by Predaking. Shockwave used his chestplates as a step to stand back in the vidscreen's line of sight. "My lord, is everything alright?"

"Just _peachy_ ," Megatron ground out, dislodging Tarn from his side. The tank looked like he had been spaced, his arms akimbo and optics a deep crimson with ill-concealed humiliation.

"My lord, how does an Earth fruit have anything to do with your state of well-being?"

Megatron let the statement slide with a warning look. "How soon can you fix the ship?"

"Soon. Bringing the gravity stabilizers back online is easy enough that Lugnut could do it, my lord, if he was in the star system. However, the ship would need to be upright first," the metal creaked and groaned as the ship continued to turn, tools and a various assortment of beakers crashing into the ceiling-turned-floor. "And that is easier said than done."

Megatron pinched his nasal ridge. "Unicron below," he muttered, casting a glare out the small viewing port behind him. Shockwave could just see the blue of Earth's ocean over its rim. The trajectory they were viewing the organic planet at meant they were dangerously close to falling out of orbit. He was debating whether or not to tell this tidbit of information to Megatron when the atmospheric alarms began shrieking. Megatron groaned, not bothering to online his optics when he asked, "And how much time do we have, Shockwave, until gravity decides to run its course?"

"About half a breem, my lord." A noise of exasperation.

"Anything else?"

"With the gravity stabilizers malfunctioning, then the shield generator is probably offline as well. We will only be able to take so much prolonged exposure to the local sun before gaining damage."

Megatron gave a small groan. It was times like these it was rewarding for Shockwave to be considered in Megatron's inner circle; he got to see the warlord at his most mortal. And also at times like these, it was quite entertaining. "I shall get a squadron of fliers to buy you some time. Order the others as you must, so long as we get functional as quickly as possible."

* * *

Actually, Optimus thought that the two symbionts were rather pleasant to be around. They were playful and noisy, but in a little sibling way that made him yearn for the young cadets he had been charged with back on Cybertron. Rumble and Frenzy loved to crawl across his back struts and over his claws, as if they were as harmless as Earth's grass and not lethal weapons, able to shred plating off of a mech in one swipe. Optimus shook the sudden violent thought from his processor. Now, where had _that_  come from?

By "teach him what we discussed", Soundwave had meant a somewhat modified version of Hand. Optimus had been rather taken aback; he knew a few words and phrases, but the complexity the symbionts knew it was on a whole new level. Some of the actions were different, punctuated by the flaring of ones plating or a few aggressive squeezes with a finger. Rumble explained that this was the Decepticon version of Hand, and was much harder to interpret. Frenzy grinned and waved excitedly as he explained how Megatron had came up with it himself for covert missions and how he had thought Optimus should learn a little bit too, for clearer communications. This Decepticon Hand was actually much more basic and taken "in context" than the original, obviously designed for the size difference of warframes and the fact that many Decepticons had oddly-formed servos. That did not mean this Hand was simple; in fact, true to Rumble's word, it was nigh-impossible to interpret without the ability of speech. Optimus gave in to frustrated tail-lashes several times during their groon long session. By the end of it, the only words Optimus was able to form was "enemy" and "loyal friend". He thought the choice of words was unusual, but then, he was being given a way to communicate that was well within his capacity. The less-complex movements meant even his awkward primal servos were able to keep up.

That left him where he was now, Rumble and Frenzy rolling on the floor, optical bands welling up with lubricant as their vocalizers hissed laughs. Optimus snorted urgently. _What? What did I say?_

It was Rumble who came out of it first. He wiped at his optical band, his vents shuddering. "I am not going to repeat that. But, _Primus_ , the great Optimus Prime commenting on his fragging preferences like that!"

Optimus' optics spiraled wide, his plating flaring in defiance. He did not just—! Did he? Well, scrap.

Soundwave gave the blue minicon a light cuff on the audial. **{{ _Rumble: must be more polite._ }}** Rumble just stuck out his glossa and scampered off behind Optimus, who's faceplates were still a mortified shade of blue. He turned around to remove the little annoyance when the ship rocked, bringing the four mechs to the ground.

"What the hell?" Frenzy cried out, latching himself onto Soundwave.

 **{{ _Soundwave: talked to Frenzy about the usage of Earth swears. Recommendation: refrain from them._ }}** The _Nemesis_  shuddered again and Optimus felt Rumble clamber onto his back struts, too nervous to crawl his way back to Soundwave. The Prime could feel the symbiont's anxious field pulling at his own, and sent a calming pulse. Faceplates were buried into the junction between his wings, a startled vent drawn in when the ship swayed for a third time.

Optimus watched as Soundwave cocked his helm as if listening to a transmission. He then carefully pried Frenzy from his leg, setting him near Optimus. **{{ _Soundwave: wishes for Optimus Prime to keep Rumble and Frenzy safe. Soundwave: has trust that Optimus Prime can do such. [Y]/N_ }}**

The spymaster then hurried out of his habisuite, the door sliding shut behind him. The three of them sat there for awhile, the silence tense and thrumming with trepidation. Frenzy's vocalizer clicked and reset before he asked, "Is it over?"

 _Whuurrm,_ the ship replied, this time rocking over hard enough for the walls to become the floor. And it continued to turn.

"Forget I said anything!" Frenzy screeched, bolting onto Optimus' back struts to join his counterpart. The Prime, now carrying his charges looked about in search of something to brace himself to when Megatron's voice crackled over the ship's comm systems.

"Any mech with wings, report to the bridge immediately!"

Optimus felt a little servo tug on a finial. "C'mon, you heard the boss! You've got wings, let's go!"

The Prime's engines growled. _No, Soundwave told me to protect you two and keep you safe. Leaving the room could compromise this,_ he wanted to say. Unfortunately, he could not communicate that in Hand with just "enemy", "loyal friend", and an apparent erotic taste in berth presences.

He was too busy having a snorting argument with Rumble to notice Frenzy's absence until it was too late. The door to Soundwave's habisuite hissed shut, making Optimus look up. A bellow of frustration ripped from his vocalizer and Rumble squeaked, servos tightening their grip on his wing junction as the Prime took off down the halls.

Optimus would occasionally spot a flash of red, only to lose it in the _Nemesis'_  complex maze of upside down corridors. Rumble would occasionally call out directions for Optimus to get back on track. He vaguely heard a whoop from the minicon as they barreled down a hall, nearly running over several Vehicons in the process. He finally caught Frenzy as the minicon entered a large set of doors. The red symbiont squeaked when his predatory sparksitter burst in on him, a victorious rumble coming from his engines and a catcall from the micro-sized warrior on his back. The hunt had ended, the prey caught. If only the hunters had realized what room they were in.

There was a reset of a vocalizer and the clearing on one's throat tubing to gain their attention. Optimus reigned in the missing symbiont with a scornful snort before looking up. The victory drained from his faceplates and his finials dropped in embarrassment, his wings pressing close to his sides.

"While I appreciate the enthusiasm, Optimus, a micron of orderly conduct in a dire situation would be appreciated," Megatron said. Despite the stern look he was giving the Prime, their was hidden amusement in his field.

Optimus rumbled apologetically and shuffled back into the throng of flightframe Decepticons he had just carelessly burst through, ignoring their snickering. For the most part.

"As many of you are aware, our ship has been...shifted by a powerful solar storm. We are currently working on fixing the problem with the gravity stabilizers that has caused this predicament. Due to the lack of friction, however, we will be trying to manually restore the ship to its upright state. What I ask will be dangerous; we will be exiting through the port side hanger, and, under no circumstances, is any mech to leave the shadow of the _Nemesis_. Our shields are out, and any direct contact with a solar flare will be extremely painful, if not fatal. Shockwave has asked us to speed up the _Nemesis_ ' rotation rather than go against it. Are we clear with the assignment?"

The crowd of Decepticons roared as if being roasted alive by high intensity solar flares was a desirable death. Optimus chuffed in amusement. "Then, Decpticons, _rise up_!"

The group of flightframes stormed out into the upside down halls, surging upwards into what had been the belly of the ship. Optimus was swept along with them, his two symbiont charges clinging to his back struts as if he was a life raft. They burst into a smaller hanger than the main launch bay and took off as a swarm. Optimus was surprised to see Megatron's gray form amongst them, the roar of his powerful engine blasting through the hanger. Soon the three mechs were alone, the cold vacuum of space caressing at their plating. Optimus found a sudden desire to join them, but since his flight was strictly manual and required an atmosphere and gravity, he would be of no use. The painful realization bugged him more than he cared to admit.

He didn't know when Vehicons began trickling in, only that they did, some huddling in closely packed groups, others in pairs or by themselves, staying a safe ways back from the space lock, but looking out into space to get a glimpse of a flightframe. The ship suddenly lurched, and the hanger quickly began to right itself. There was a murmur of relief through the assembled crowd, only to be replaced by startled yelps as they began to slide across the ever changing surface. Somebot had the processor to close the space lock so no one fell out of the ship, thank Primus. And then the _Nemesis_ shuddered as the gravity stabilizers onlined, and Optimus glanced out the viewport located near the space lock. A flicker of the red shield distorted the black expanse beyond it. He let a gust out from his vents in relief.

"They're coming through the main hanger!" A Vehicon shouted, and the group surged out and up to the top deck of the ship. There they were met with the flightframes, many of which were met with excitement. Optimus tried to squelch the feeling of unease in his spark when he didn't see Megatron. That's was, until an urgent shout drew his attention.

"Up there!" A group of a half dozen flightframes descended, three of them glowing red hot and smoking. A fourth was an already grading corpse. The fifth was Tail-Shot, and the final mech...

Optimus keened in alarm and pushed his way through the crowd, mindless of the strange stares he got. Megatron's left arm looked melted and singed, and his left pede wasn't much better, the damaged thruster crackling and spitting the occasional burst of purple flame. Despite the confident façade he was putting up, four million stellar cycles of fighting had taught Optimus when Megatron was hiding a great deal of pain. He waved off a Vehicon that attempted to assist him. "I'm alright, damn it! Help the others first!"

He then turned and made optic contact with Optimus. The Prime took a tentative step forward, stopping short. Megatron's fingers twitched, whether to wave Optimus off or to reach out to him, neither knew. But Optimus vented, a small smile showing off fanged dentae. _Old friend, why must you always refuse assistance._

Not that he was much better, but still.

Optimus ducked behind Megatron with Rumble and Frenzy still on his back, hearing mechs tense and weapon systems engage, only to be replaced by confused muttering as his long neck slipped underneath his damaged arm and a wing braced itself against the warframe's back struts. The three wounded Eradicons were strapped to gurneys and whisked off to the medbay while the fourth was reverently covered with a tarp, his lifeless frame hidden from prying optics.

Megatron shuttered his optics in bewilderment, his faceplates softening to something else for a moment. Then it was gone and the two began to agonizingly slow process of reaching the medbay, only for Megatron to be commed halfway there and told to wait in his quarters like a sparkling. The warframe growled at this, but Rumble and Frenzy just laughed. Optimus, suddenly concerned for their wellbeing, glanced up at Megatron, only to watch in disbelief as he gave them little pats on their helms.

By the time they made it to Megatron's habisuite, Soundwave had came by and collected his deployers and offered to help Optimus. Megatron had politely declined the offer, leaving the two of them alone. With his large frame, Optimus tried his best to maneuver Megatron onto his berth, where the pressure would be taken off his pedes. The warframe looked like he wanted to make a comment, but was cut off when the request to enter was pinged.

If Knock Out had looked exhausted when he began to fix Megatron's limbs, then he must have been ready to drop offline by the time he finished several breems later, well into the night cycle. Despite the lack of resources in the habisuite, Knock Out had opted to keep him there, saying that Tarn had offered to stand watch if Megatron had stayed in the medbay, and the Phase Sixer's presence made everybot nervous. Both Megatron and Optimus nodded in agreement at that.

"Fragging thing won't be operational for several solar cycles," Megatron grumbled to himself, sitting on the edge of his berth. Smiling at Optimus, he shuttered his optics. "Do not mind my rambling. You are more to use these quarters as your own and stay the night, if you so wish."

The Prime considered this. For Megatron to not consider him a threat enough to recharge in the same room was a small miracle in itself. But that meant he would be vulnerable as well. Would he really risk it?

"Whatever you decide, I'm going to recharge. Do not worry yourself restless, Optimus." He cast the Prime a cocky grin before settling onto his side with a hiss of pain.

Optimus sat at the berthside with his claws tucked under his tail for what seemed like an indecisive eternity. Logic and emotion warred within his processor, one raging a battle with the other. He stood up, stretching, and tried to sneak out of the room, following his logic while his emotions battered him shamelessly when a rattle caused him to jump.

He glanced over his shoulder pauldron at Megatron, his plating was flaring repeatedly. Optimus felt a pang of sympathy. Shock wounds were the worst to recharge on, he knew from experience. Bad burns like the ones Megatron endured would be Pit.

Logic submitted as emotion put it in a chokehold, and Optimus dragged the Vosnian metalmesh rug he had sat on during his first visit to the side of Megatron's berth. _Just this once_ , he told himself, circling in his makeshift nest before settling down into a comfortable position. He fell into recharge with the scent of Megatron enveloping him, and his dreams were clear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huzzah! Just a side note, this whole chapter was written to Yuri!! on Ice until the end, when I caved and started going to homestuck. You're welcome for my trashiness.
> 
> But anywho, please expect a tag change: due to the surprising lack of interesting extra characters in just the Prime continuity, I am dragging in from like three others. Also, I finally started MTMTE, so expect the Roddy trash. Also, as I'm sure many of you subconciously know and/or forgot (like I did until after I wrote that section), Tailgate was Arcee's partner! So, for obvious reasons, the Lost Light dynamic is going to be heavily shifted into something I can work with. *clasps hands together and laughs darkly* the aaaannngst
> 
> (Also yes I changed the first chapter, now it has a poemy thing too)


	14. Arpeggio

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow look I'm alive!!! And just after my finals finish too!
> 
> This is a big birthday shout out to Quetzalcoatls who is wonderful and amazing and IM SO SORRY THIS IS A DAY LATE!!!!
> 
> *but psst have some MegaOp fluff to make up for it

Megatron came online with a groan, his left arm itching as though thousands of microscopic scraplets roamed beneath its heavy armor. The servo on his functional arm was brought to rest on his abdominal plating, his fingers drumming absentmindedly as his processor sluggishly came to life.

Out of the odd set of scenarios presented to him the solar cycle previous, he lingered on the ominous datapacket with the timestamp of his meeting with Tarn. Megatron had compiled the information when the solar flares had hit, sending a quick copy to Soundwave before deciding to sort out the mess after his ship's precarious position had been dealt with. With the calm atmosphere of his quarters and his chronometer's comforting reassurance that he had grooms until his shift cycle, Megatron deemed now a good enough time as any to review top secret information.

_Missions Report: Tarn, Head of Decepticon Justice Division  
Location: Sector 4-C57P, Near Quintesson Space_

_Breach of several intergalactic peace accords has occurred approximately six solar cycles ago when a Quintesson flagship was spotted near Cybertron's colonial claim, Velocitron. Lieutenant Black Out's warnings to stand down and turn back went unheeded. Black Out's squadron was then fired upon. Three dead, two uncounted, seven wounded. A begrudging retreat was made to the_ Peaceful Tyranny _, which was en route for a routine check up. Decepticon Justice Division force was used to drive the Quintesson flagship_ Thine Hallowed Tendrils _out of Cybertronian Space. Flagship sustained minor damages: destroyed secondary thruster, removal of port and starboard ion canons, and the annihilation of a fleet of Quintesson cruisers._

Megatron groaned again, vents rattling as he released a huge gust of air. The untimely arrival of those tentacled menaces certainly complicated his functioning. On one servo, he agreed with Tarn's actions. How he had carried them out, however, was another story. Attacking a flagship, especially one of the more experienced models (if Megatron remembered correctly, _Thine Hallowed Tendrils_  was older than even Alpha Trion and ranked as one of the most lethal ships this side of the Void), was a grave insult to the Quintesson military elite. As if he needed another conflict to deal with at the moment.

The warlord sighed, swinging his pedes off his berth, fully intent on getting energon from his personal dispenser to ease the helmache forming behind his optics when he tripped over something solid and hit the floor with a solid _thwump._ There was a startled yelp and the sound of weapons systems on lining as Megatron stumbled to a defensive crouch, his damaged pede creaking in protest. Hydraulics hissed as he shifted the weight off of it.

Blue biolights flared aggressively in the darkness of Megatron's quarters, and he felt the heat of flames as they licked past his damaged plating, microns from the weakened armor. Megatron threw his field out, a wave of anger and murderous intent and raw power that gave his attacker a quick pause. The warlord used this to his advantage and tackled the mech, pinning him to the ground with a victorious shout. It was only when thin wings batted his sides and a sharp, knife-like point lodged itself into his undamaged shoulder did Megatron's processor fully comprehend his opponent.

"Calm yourself, Optimus!" A low growl came from his old enemy, accompanied by sharp claws digging at his thighs, and Megatron's servos shot forward, acting on their own accord. He rarely got close enough to try such a thing in battle, and he seriously doubted that it could work on Optimus' new frame but...

Claws dipped into the seams of abdominal plating, plucking along wires that had been untouched for millennia. The effect was immediate; Megatron felt the plating beneath him flare in surprise, and then the Prime's frame shuddered as it stilled. Then the chuffing began—short bursts of air pushed through his vents that acted as an equivalent to laughter. Megatron felt the sharp point of his tail relax and slide out from beneath his shoulder pauldron, and wings ceased to beat frantically. The warlord smirked and rolled off of Optimus, the threat neutralized.

He limped over to the habisuite's control monitor and activated the lighting. Purple battled red and blue, Optimus' ruffled plating shining in the low light of the _Nemesis._  The Prime had been sleeping next to his berth, Megatron realized, his optics trailing to the rug at the foot of his berth, bunched up and flung off to the side after their scuffle. Optimus was eyeing him warily, wings pulled in as tight as his field. He suffered from no major injuries; the worst Megatron could find was a short gash on his flank and several dents.

Approaching the Prime slowly, Megatron held out his servos to show he was unarmed. A small part of his processor found it ridiculous of him for trying to pacify Optimus—he should just rush the mech and force him to submit to medical care. Pits, he didn't even _need_  it! The rest of him was too preoccupied, a piece of dormant coding slowly flickering to life, whispering to him, insisting that a small archivist was in the place of a powerful Predacon.

Megatron's subvocalizer made a few gentle clicks, like a human would call a canine companion. Optimus, wariness forgotten, inched closer. The warlord pulled a cleaning rag from his subspace as he crouched in front of Optimus, movements slow and cautious as to not incite an outburst. He dabbed the rag against the shallow cut, mumbling a brief apology as his servo smoothed down a few stray pieces of flared armor.

Megatron felt a weight plop down onto his shoulder as Optimus' engine purred in content. The warlord continued petting the Prime's back until his leg protested and he had to sit, only for Optimus to curl around his back and set his helm on Megatron's lap. The show of trust stunned the warlord for a moment, until Optimus butted his helm into Megatron's lower chestplates insistently, finials twitching.

A memory file popped up into his processor so fast a warning actually appeared. Him laying in his small berth in his quarters under a gladiatorial ring in Kaon, Orion Pax pulled tightly against his side, optics half-shut as Megatron ran his fingers over sensitive finials. He remembered how much Orion had loved the intimacy of such an act, always requesting it in a post-interface cuddle.

Now, stellar cycles later, his claws repeated the motion, gliding gently down the longer finial, pushing a little harder up the second, the pointed tips of his digits able to trace the junction of the finials to his helm. Optimus melted against him, their plating pressed closely together. After eons of fighting, Megatron found snuggling with his sworn enemy a tad bit bizarre, yet comforting. It gave him hope that Orion was still somewhere inside of Optimus.

They stayed like that until Megatron received a ping from Soundwave requesting his presence on the bridge. He untangled himself with great hesitance, leaving the now-recharging Prime alone in his quarters. Megatron almost left him as he was, but once more, the strange code had him going back and tucking a berth sheet around his slumbering form.

No gladiator of Kaon should act like this. No Decepticon, especially the Lord of the Decepticons, should treat their enemy with such benevolence and affection. The uncomfortable thought haunted him as he left his quarters and stalked down to the bridge, a slumbering Prime at his back struts.

* * *

Sixshot's visor dimmed, his claws rapping on the railing as he tracked the Quintesson's second violation across the viewport of the little space station. A carrier frigate, smaller than the flagship reported by Tarn, was billowing smoke as it trudged towards a neutral organic planet. Ares, maybe? Sixshot didn't care; he snarled at the disgusting display of ignorance before chuckling darkly. The Quintesson's idiocy could prove to be a good source of fun.

"Ah, sir, we finally got a reading on the ship that was attacked by the Quintesson," a lofty voice said. Sixshot grunted noncommittally and made a universal "continue" motion.

Throat tubing was cleared. "It appears to be a Cybertronian ark, sir. The _Autobot_ kind."

Sixshot's engines growled dangerously, his thoughts churning restlessly as he calculated the most excruciating form of pain within the Quintesson's measly pain parameters. "Go on."

"It's specific designation is still being ran through our databases. It made a quantum leap before we were able to get additional information." Sixshot turned to face the mech at his lack of helpful input, a snarl forming under his battlemask. He had interrupted his grim fantasy of ripping the tentacles off an Allicon too many times.

"Steeljaw, was it? You might believe me a friend, given one of my alt-modes is similar to yours; however, you have no empathy from me for that simple fact. Do your job and find out why Autobots were out here. Also, charge up the ion canons. I want that Quintesson ship destroyed within the breem."

The beastformer bowed his helm. "Of course. And the Autobot ship?"

Sixshot grimaced. "Send me an estimated leap trajectory and I'll see to it. Maybe somebot aboard will put up a good enough fight to make it worth my time."

He left the bridge and made his way up to a small, cramped mess hall, giving Black Out a curt nod as he collected his ration. He flailed to flinched when the base rumbled with the force of an ion canon discharging. That brightened his spirits. At least those dishonorable tentacled nuisances had been destroyed.

Now all that remained were those trespassing Autobots.

* * *

Tailgate hummed thoughtfully as he made his way through the small streets of Adrecus. The narrow stone pathways were designed for organic roughly his size, and, as such, he was given a generous handful of credits and instructed to pick up necessary supplies for the crew of the _Lost Light_. Only _necessary_ supplies.

The thought nagged the back of his processor as he glanced over the wares of the old organic in front of him. She was of a scaly species, her form hunched and double set of watery optics squinted as they attempted to focus on him. She smiled sweetly as he picked up a small figure; a crystal statue the color of dark mahogany resembling a vaguely Cyclonus-shaped warrior roughly the size of his servo. Tailgate's field spiked in interest. "How much, ma'am?"

Her spindly arms swung out, silently asking the item he picked. He reluctantly handed it over. "Ah, for you, Cybertronian, fifty credits shall suffice."

Tailgate's vents hiccuped in surprise. "Only fifty? Are you sure?"

"Yes, my child. On Adrecus, we believe gifts for those dear to our hearts should not cost as much as one," she said in shaky Galactic Standard, wrapping the figurine in protective packaging before giving it back to a flustered Tailgate. He accepted his purchase with a mumbled "thank you" and hurried along, his faceplate scalding. Cyclonus wasn't...They weren't...argh!

Tailgate stored his present in his subspace with the medical supplies he had purchased for Ambulon and the energon candies he had bought per Rodimus' request. Now all he needed was the set of shatter-proof tools that Brainstorm had asked him to get, and then he would make his way back to the rest of the scouting party. They were hanging around the edge of the town, their larger frames making it difficult for them to navigate the small trade market.

He turned the corner and bumped into somebot. Crashing back on his skidplate with a yelp, Tailgate began apologizing profusely.

"Sorry, my mech! You cool? You gucci?" Tailgate reset his optical band at the strange language and the lilting accent that accompanied it. When his vision finally rebooted, he was met with a pristine white and blue paintjob on a frame that would put Nova Prime's concubines to shame. The mech's faceplate was up in his own, a visor flashing in concern. "Ah, good. You're alive an' kickin'."

"My apologies!" Tailgate sputtered out, eyes flitting down to the red Autobrand gleaming on the mech's chassis, front and center. It seemed out of place on the spotless frame.

"Naw, fam, no worries! Name's Jazz! What about you?" "Jazz" offered him a servo up, which he took tentatively and nearly lost an arm. Primus, this mech was stronger than he looked!

"Tailgate," he said meekly, giving Jazz a once over. Countless warnings from Cyclonus popped up into his HUD as he watched the incredibly attractive mech stand up from his crouch, his field exuding confidence. Tailgate gave Jazz's Autobrand another wary glance. He'd never heard of this mech before.

"Aw, that's a nice designation!" Jazz's tone was friendly enough, but something else lurked under the surface. It brought about an uncomfortable sense of familiarity that Tailgate sometimes fell victim too. He had no idea what had happened before Cyclonus and the rest of the _Lost Light_ crew had rescued him from a dark, abandoned storage building in Tetrahex, but since then he had odd senses, as if he had seen a mech's face before or heard their voice. Jazz was one of those senses.

"Hey, Jazz! What's the hold up, boss mech?" Another voice called out. The mech it belonged to jogged into view, his paintjob a vibrant red under Adrecus' star. His frontliner frame was nicked with countless gauges that he hadn't bothered to buff out, though his faceplate was smooth and played host to a stunning smile. Tailgate's attention was drawn to the twin swords strapped to his back that were nearly as long as he was tall. "Yo! Who's this?"

"Sideswipe, meet Tailgate. Tailgate, Sideswipe." He held out his servo, an Earth gesture Tailgate had seen Rodimus incorporate into the _Lost Light'_ s status quo for greetings. Tailgate shook his outstretched servo.

"Tailgate? Aren't you—gack!" Sideswipe clutched at his helm.

"Are you alright?" Tailgate asked, stepping forward. Strange, Jazz had reached over to comfort his friend, but his field was tucked in tight, and his movements felt...unnatural. And the location that Sideswipe's pain seemed to be originating from was awfully close to where his comm link would be located. Tailgate was no intelligence specialist or medic, but living with one of Galvatron's elite had made him observant to certain odd symptoms pertaining to mechs out of nowhere. If he didn't know any better, he would say Jazz had just blasted him with static over their comm link to keep him from spilling information.

But that was ridiculous. The two seemed friendly enough. Being in close proximity with Red Alert for an extended period of time must have made him paranoid.

"I'm...alright. Damn, organic planets have the craziest interference sometimes," Sideswipe said with groan, shuttering his optics and shaking his head. "Wohoo, that was a doozy."

Tailgate went to ask just what a "doozy" was (his interactions with Earth-stationed mech's were few and far between, and Rodimus seemed unwilling to speak of the few experiences he'd had on the interesting little planet) when Jazz gave him a quick pat on the shoulder. "Ah, never mind him. He's a youngin', happens all the time."

Jazz smiled brilliantly, guiding Tailgate by his kibble. "Hey, my mech, since we happened to bother ya, why don't we give you a servo? Whatcha shoppin' for?"

Tailgate rattled off the supplies Ambulon had practically scorched across his optical feed, Jazz nodding enthusiastically. "Yeah, mech, Sideswipe and I got some of that to spare! Anythin' we don't have we'll help you find!"

"Why, thank you! Most mech's aren't this—" his idle prattle was cut off by an insistent beeping in his HUD. Tailgate sighed, holding a servo in a  _one klik, gotta take this_  motion.

**::Captain. I'm on my way, just give me a little longer—::**

He was interrupted again, Rodimus' comm crackling with static...and was that _laser fire_? **::I've got bad news. Rung's told me they had to leap because of a hostile ship and it'll be a few grooms before the quantum engines'll be ready to get the _Lost_ _Light_  back.::**

**::Alright, what's the good news?::**

**:Weeeeell...there is none.::**

**::Captain, one says "bad news" when it is accompanied with "good news".::**  There was that laser fire noise again.

**::Um, yeah, about that. Cyclonus'll kill me if you die, so please take your time when shopping.::**

**::What's going on? I can help!::**

**::Not with this one.::**

**::Why not?::**

**::'Cause we may or may not have pissed off a Phase Sixer.::**

Tailgate swore he had never disobeyed orders with such speed. He made an apologetic noise and took off towards the rendezvous point with Rodimus, Jazz and Sideswipe hot in his heels, as if sensing his alarm.

* * *

Tarn ex-vented with the force of a small windstorm, dust and other organic debris churning out from under his flared plating as he slouched on his temporary berth, optics half-online and dim. He was sulking, if you could call it that; he reached out to his amica endura across their weak bond, feeling a vague sense of amusement and a " _oh, hush you, stop complaining_ ". Tarn slouched further on the berth, his field surging grumpily. He hated going on solo missions without Kaon, feeling as though one pede had been yanked out from under him by that blue and gold Autobot.

Flopping onto his side, Tarn reached out for the cube of mid grade resting near the berth, retracting his mask from the bottom half of his faceplates enough that he could drink. Knowing that _the_  Optimus Prime was on board and he wasn't allowed to torture him to deactivation slowly and painfully then parade his helm around on a stake was deeply upsetting. One who had caused so much pain and hurt towards Lord Megatron must be made to suffer greatly. Not being able to punish such a heathen that was like a growing itch he was unable to scratch. Kaon would know what to do, giving him the console he sought when he was unable to do his job to the best of his ability.

And his amica was better company than the other mechs aboard the ship. The droids avoided him like Cosmic Rust, only speaking when spoken to and scattering whenever he entered the room. Starscream knew where he stood with Tarn, even with Lord Megatron's pardon. Thus, he was almost always plastered to the warlord's side when in a meeting, or hiding in the halls, wings low and helm bowed. Soundwave and Lord Megatron were the only mechs on board to give him some of their time, and while the red medic might have been as nice to cuddle as Kaon, he seemed deathly afraid of getting within a ship's length of Tarn. Good.

Yet, it was a tad bit lonely when he thought about it. Tarn shrugged the feeling off. He had his band of comrades, his brothers-in-arms. He would see the rest of the DJD soon enough, and, after this whole Quintesson debacle was cleared up, they would go straight back to what they did best; making lists and crossing things off of them. Ah, yes, that sounded lovely.

He thought of the other members of his team and how they must be doing. Of Tesaurus and Helix, the two brawlers bashing into Quintesson strikers and bowling through their defenses with practiced ease. Of slight Vos and his unfailing accuracy, as well as his chipper personality, when it was coaxed out of him with several engexes and a good joke. Of little Nickel and her fierce loyalty to them and the Cause. Of Kaon, who most undoubtably had everything back in control on the _Peaceful Tyranny_. Maybe his fretting was pointless; his amica was highly capable of running an elite execution task force while he kept an optic on Optimus Prime.

They were the Decepticon Justice Division. They always had everything under control.

* * *

Kaon did _not_ have everything under control. He had paused to give the small naggling in the back of his spark a quick reassurance before getting back to the task at hand. Tarn always seemed so morose when going off by himself, despite his insistence to do such several solar cycles earlier.

Discounting the ruckus coming from the cargo hold undoubtably caused by Tesaurus and Helix teaching Nickel some rather unsavory games, his present issue was Vos, who was having increasing difficulty getting his point across without Tarn to translate his Primal Vernacular. He was hopping from pede to pede, whether in frustration or excitement or both, Kaon had no clue. The sniper was waving frantically, bursts of mother-tongue blasting Kaon as he sat perched on the way-too-large captain's chair. Actually, perched was the wrong word. He was more or less curled up on the cozy seat, back struts pressed against one arm and pedes dangling of the other, a datapad with hastily scribbled notes on Primal Vernacular balanced between his knees connected to his arm via data cable. He scanned over the information as it was presented to him in his HUD, growing increasingly frustrated as time wore on.

"You want a...Vos, slow down. I can't understand you!" Kaon growled, his fingers rapping his abdominal plating in frustration. He turned his helm to where he thought Vos was standing. "Look, just, go slow. I'm trying as hard as I can here."

Vos _harrumphed_ and spoke slower, his lilting voice crooning nonsense into Kaon's audials. It sounded like he had moved closer, too close, mockingly close, and Kaon reached out to smack him. A clang and a noise of surprise, the sniper's field reeling at the sudden attack. Bullseye.

Kaon could feel the air as it was disturbed by servos getting thrown up in defeat, and the clanking of small pedes as Vos stomped away. Groaning in relief, Kaon sunk farther into the captain's chair, pressing his faceplates against the chair's back and venting. He could smell Tarn, and suddenly the distant tug at his spark was back. Kaon wanted to snort at how quick his amica had responded his distress, even from a distant galaxy stellar cycles away. Casting a cursory ping to make sure he was alone on the bridge (he was, since everybot else were a bunch of _slackers_ when he was in charge), he retreated to the sanctity of his processor, his servos tracing over his rotors that covered his spark chamber. _Miss you._

It was too far to send actual words through their sparkbond, but the message was clear nonetheless. This was a language he was quite adept at translating.

 _Thought you were just chastising me for that_ , Tarn responded with amusement. The mental voice Kaon had conjured of him held a soft smirk. And after a moment. _Miss you, too_.

* * *

Optimus clicked angrily as he stalked through the halls of the _Nemesis_. How _dare_ Megatron leave after...after...

What had that been exactly?

Well, whatever it was, something inside Optimus that had been distressed ever since the beginning of this bizarre situation had been at peace, and he had felt quite content. Up until Megatron had left him, that is.

He shouldn't care. They were sworn enemies, after all.

Optimus found he that he _did_ care, though, as he made his way to the bridge with an aura that made Decepticons scuttle away in fear. The doors opened, and mechs, sensing the irritation in his field, shrunk at their posts, edging as far away from the upset Prime as possible. All except one.

Soundwave tilted his visor questioningly as Optimus drew himself up to his full height, neck extended and chin tilted upward. _Where is he?_

The spymaster, ever silent, turned and pointed to the command console, politely slipping out of his way. Optimus snorted in gratitude, then stomped up to the gray warbuild, vents hissing angrily. Megatron refused to face him, immersed in a conversation with a mech on a small vidscreen, but Optimus could feel the amusement that permeated from his field being directed towards him.

_Fragger._

Another time, and Optimus may have been appalled that he stooped to using such crass language. Instead, he huffed to a stop, right behind Megatron's back struts, waiting for the feed to cut. Then, he struck.

Struck wasn't the proper word, Optimus supposed, as his helm squarely hit Megatron in the junction between his abdominal plating and back struts, growling angrily. _I am not happy with you._

Megatron exvented a quiet chortle, ignoring the repeated bumps as Optimus tried to get the warbuild to face him. On the fifth try, clawed servos snuck out, quick as Earthen vipers, and scooted him to sit by Megatron on the command deck. Optimus spluttered in surprise, optics wide as he stared at Megatron, who offered him a coy smirk before turning back to his console. The Prime sat, dumbfounded, his plating nearly close enough to touch Megatron's with how ruffled it was, blinking up at his supposed enemy. It was like earlier, in Megatron's quarters. Optimus could detect no malice from the warbuild, only amusement and...longing.

He had missed this.

Missed him.

Probably Orion, not Optimus, but still. The Prime relaxed a fraction, daring to press closer, only to jolt in surprise when a big, welcoming field opened up a sliver, as if just for him.

Optimus glanced around, but no mech was watching. Not his team, not the Decepticons. He would probably feel guilty about it later, but dismissed the fact for its reward. He carefully leaned, his flank pressing into Megatron's side, feeling the appreciative hum from his powerful flight engines. Optimus cautiously met Megatron's field with his own, and the two meshed together, small and drawn close as not alert others, but still together. Optimus and Megatron stayed like that for a long time, the latter dropping his arm across the broad shoulders of the former to pull him closer as he read through his reports, Optimus staring at the stars and the blue, hopeful planet below.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tailgate is a sucker for romantic stuff, in all honesty. And Cyclonus loves it.
> 
> Also yes, yes, this is technically a Prime fic and I have "Predaking being a dad" in the tags. Next chapter, I promise!
> 
> Also, all I want for Christmas is for my lovely readers to put some comments down below! Happy Holidays, lovelies!


	15. Comprehension

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have clawed my way from death to give you this chapter, my children! And I want to throw myself back to death because this was awful to write and I'm sorry if it's chunky and aaahhhhhh pivotal chapters aren't my strongpoint ok.
> 
> I do plan on trying to update at least once a month, so stay tuned! I, not dead yet!
> 
> Warning for kind of a graphic (?) fight scene?

"Fraggin' _son of a bitch_ ," Wheeljack snarled, startling Smokescreen from the datapad he was reading. Smokescreen was no stranger to the art of crass language, but hearing Wheeljack slip into Earth swears was a foreign concept with a bizarrely fitting promise imbedded within it. He drew his damaged plating close and skooched farther away from the Wrecker. The last time Wheeljack had said "bitch" was in reference to a revenge concoction he had specifically whipped up for Shockwave, and the result was the lower hanger being fumigated and several thousand human dollars in damage from what Fowler had called a "pipe-bomb on steroids".

Wheeljack saying "fuck"—the universe would end in a ball of flame, and all would know of his fury.

Or Miko was just teaching him new words again, and trying to get him to use them. Smokescreen's vents hissed in disdain; personally, he found "shit" to be the most useful and volatile, but another one of Prime's "language probations" had curbed his usage a while back.

At the thought of Optimus, Smokescreen's doorwings drooped. Two weeks, and there hadn't been a trace of their leader. He couldn't help search because he was still in recovery (as Ratchet had explicitly put it, "Suck it up, Buttercup!"), and his only company was of old reports and a grumpy Wrecker who was benched for bad attitude. Speaking of which...

"What'd you do now, man?" Smokescreen asked, optics sliding over to catch a glimpse of Wheeljack. The Wrecker might be scarier than Unicron and Mortilus' furies combined, but he had provided Smokescreen with decent company the last few days, even if Fowler had demanded Ratchet to do something after he intercepted a team of Vehicon's near a city called Salt Lake and nearly blew them a new body of water. Ever since their fight with Tarn, tensions had ramped up to a snapping point. Wheeljack was the most volatile, constantly spamming the open Cybertronian comm frequency and demanding a rematch with Tarn. He had yet to get a response.

"Eh, this new detenation system's jamming too easy. Stupid piece of slag ain't gonna work in the heat of battle," Wheeljack mumbled, tinkering with a disarmed grenade shell. Ratchet had agreed to it after frisking Wheeljack twice for anything explosive, and only because he kept tinkering with every piece of medical equipment within reach. He looked away from his project and locked optics with Smokescreen. "I did nothing."

Smokescreen rolled his optics and tossed the datapad he'd been attempting to read onto one of the human balconies. He laid back, pillowing his helm with his arms and exventing hard. "I'm so bored."

There was a pause; he had Wheeljack's attention. "Well, what would you suggest? I'm all audials."

"A drive? Maybe a carwash? I'm dying to take a spin, even a quick one," Smokescreen said, giving Wheeljack a discreet look. A smirk crept on the Wrecker's faceplate, completely at odds with his tone.

"You heard the docbot; we're benchwarmers, bud." Wheeljack's doorwings flapped in excitement.

"Ratchet said we couldn't go into combat. He never said anything about a bath." Smokescreen grinned and sat a little straighter, admiring the sudden deviousness field that pulsed alongside his. He pushed against it, hoping for an equivalent of one of Miko's ticks-long pleads. It worked.

Wheeljack took a quick look around and jerked his helm at the door. "We'll be quick. Docbot's doin' a supply run with that human agent and Magnus is out with the others on patrol."

Their wardens were occupied, and everyone else was busy. That left...

Smokescreen's optics slipped guiltily down the hall towards their habisuites. "What about Arcee?" He whispered, scared as if just speaking her designation would summon her.

"Nah, she may be up and about, but I heard Docbot tellin' Jack that she needs a whole lotta recharge. We aren't gonna have trouble from her," Wheeljack said, placing a reassuring servo on Smokescreen's damaged shoulder pauldron. "But we're gonna want to sneak outta here quietly, that's for sure."

Smokescreen nodded, and the two shuffled to the hanger door. Wheeljack cracked it open as wide as he dared and transformed, quietly rolling out into the sunlight. Smokescreen had more difficulty with it, as his sequence sounded more or less like a dying turbofox, his internals screeching in protest.

 **::Shhhhh!::** Wheeljack blasted over his comm link.

 **::Alright, alright, we're fine, it's all good,::** Smokescreen assured, mostly to himself, as he creeped out the door. Wheeljack transformed back to root mode and gave a furtive glance for humans as he slid the bay doors shut. He pulled a small device from his subspace and pressed a button, not unlike how Smokescreen saw humans unlock their vehicles.

**::What's that for?::**

Another transformation and the two were speeding out of the compound and down the dusty road. **::Ain't the first time I sneaked out while under house arrest, kid. It's a proximity jammer; those fleshbag cameras won't have footage of us leaving to use against us later. We're home free.::**

Smokescreen whooped over the comm link and sped down the road. The idea of a cool bath to rinse out all the grime that had settled in his plating made him rev his engine. Over the noise he could faintly here Wheeljack saying something over the comms, but couldn't figure out what before the blacktop was doused in flame and claws were sunk into his roof.

* * *

Ratchet was having a bad day. A _very_  bad day. It started out well enough: he got to throw wrenches at Wheeljack after he tried to make a concussive bomb, Arcee woke up from her coma long enough to stagger to her habisuite and go straight into a deep recharge, June coming to the base and allowing him a riveting discussion about medical practice over morning energon and coffee. Then he admitted to having to get more supplies, to which June had patted his finger sympathetically and insisted she see if the hospital had some left over chemicals and scrap supplies that would be usable for Cybertronians. He was grateful, but that meant he also had to tell Fowler, which led to him driving (due to energon shortages the Groundbridge was reserved for emergencies only) the human down to a facility in...New Mexico? Ratchet thought that Fowler had paid a fee during their transit to go "out of state", but when asked, he had laughed and said that they were still under the same government he worked for. Ratchet had grumbled; humans and their lack of a world-wide system. Though, thinking of his planet and the twisted dictatorial theocracy that it had become, it didn't seem like the best idea.

The facility had minimal supplies, and Ratchet thought that was a generous description. There was titanium and a few advanced generators—by human standards—alongside concentrations of magnesium and confiscated Cybertronian technology stolen from MECH. Ratchet turned the remains of a Vehicon blaster over in his servo, pointedly ignoring the gawking soldiers and scientists prowling the edges of the room. Top level security clearance or not, being seen in his root mode by unfamiliar humans made him uncomfortable. He made this known with an aggressive turn-over of his engine when one human dared step too close. Ratchet gave the onlookers a quick snarl and tossed the contaminated metal back into the scrap pile. "Can't you fleshies leave the dead alone rather than pick at their remains like siphoners and smugglers?"

"Mighty Cybertronian, sir, it's all for the pursuit of science. Surely a being of such advanced knowledge would understand—" Ratchet flared his plating and glared at the scientist, a gangly human that looked sleazier than the old bars in the Dead End.

"I _understand_  that valuing a sentient life is a hard pressed tradition not many follow anymore," Ratchet said as he transformed into his alt mode, the humans gasping and scrambling around and scribbling furtively.

Fowler gave Ratchet a sympathetic look and patted his door. "I'm done here. Load up that pile and we're leaving." He gave the agent no pause, his back doors swinging open impatiently. "Chop chop."

After everything was stashed in his subspace and they left the facility, Ratchet tore down the open road, tires bouncing along the warm asphalt with a satisfying rumble. Him and Fowler were silent as they wound through dusty passes and navigated the patchy two-lane road, the desert sun relentless as it beat down upon his roof. Finally, it was the human who spoke first.

"About Optimus, I know you're trying your best." Ratchet grumbled and blocked out the rambling. The last thing he needed to hear was some fleshie's pity. Fowler took the cue and sunk into the driver's seat, mouth clamped shut as they trundled on. Just as the blur of rocks became the familiar rust of Jasper, Ratchet felt his proximity alarm ping him. He had Wheeljack modify the Jackhammer's tech to cover Jasper, just in case an unidentified Cybertronian had entered the area after Optimus had disappeared. Up until that moment, the channel had been dormant, but now it screeched relentlessly, waking Fowler from a long nap.

" _What in the Sam Hill?"_  he floundered and clutched Ratchet's dashboard as the medic flipped on his siren and roared off-road, speeding towards the small country route near their base. Another Autobot? A downed Decepticon? A NAIL? Ratchet was so desperate for anything to break the apathetic monotony that had become an all-encompassing smog as of late that he threw caution to the wind, forgetting about the delicate organic in his cabin as he hurtled around pillars of rock and dodged cacti. The road came into sight and his tanks lurched. The Predacon was circling above him, flames spewing from its maw and fusing the asphalt into one black tar pit. It screeched in frustration and dove for...

By Primus, was that _W_ _heeljack?_ The Wrecker was waving one of his swords in a hopeless attempt to ward off the Predacon as he cradled his side. Ratchet felt a stab of exasperation; he'd just fixed up the idiot, only for him to run back into battle. But if he was here, where was his charge?

Ratchet got his answer as blue streaked past him, a second Predacon chasing after Smokescreen. Ratchet's comms crackled to life.

 **::Hey, Docbot. How's it hummin'?::** Wheeljack had the gall to sound nonchalant, like he wasn't in the wrong. Ratchet strongly disagreed. He swore and sent a ping for backup.

**::Honestly, why did I think you two would even listen to even the simplist healing mantra of _sitting on your afts?_ ::**

* * *

****Predaking's vents sighed in contentment, his root mode stretched over one of the many sun-baked rocks that covered this stretch of planet, his new brethren flopped next to him. Darksteel was deep in recharge, his helm pillowed by Predaking's arm. Skylynx was in his beast mode and curled up into the former's side, wings spread to catch as much warmth as possible. Predaking didn't blame them; after orns in cold, conductive liquid, the warm comfort of sunlight was addicting. So when a shadow blocked out that comfort, one could say Predaking was slightly annoyed.

"What?" The beastformer tried not to whine as he sat up. He spiraled open one optic, shuttering it to focus in on the blurry image standing before him. His faceplate split into a wide grin. "Hello, Optimus Prime."

The Prime ducked his head in apologies, his clawed servos scraping against the hard rock. Predaking wormed his way out from under his brethren and towards Optimus, bumping his forehead against the Prime's in a simple gesture of companionship. "What is the matter? Is something bothering you? For if it is a mech, let them know the fury of my claws."

Optimus snorted, his field playfully pulsing in amusement before growing small and contemplative again. His wings drew up sharply and his plating was pulled flush to his protoform in discomfort. Predaking frowned. "I shall emphasize this as much as needed, but I am here is you need console when in this form. I help my own, no matter how temporary the arrangement."

And how he wished it wasn't temporary. While the Optimus Prime he had faced was an excellent opponent and skilled fighter, this new Optimus, once taught, could be ten times more courageous and fierce, with the ability to strike fear into the sparks of his enemies with the shadow of his wings.

As if sensing his thoughts, the Prime's field pushed against his in vague disappointment. It was Predaking's turn to laugh, and he carefully reached out and fixed a piece of shoulder plating that had lodged itself on a wing's base. He frowned; the paint was cracking and the metal felt rough. He would have to see the medic about this.

Optimus wriggled out of Predaking's grasp, his field giving an insistent push. Whatever he wanted, it was serious.

The Prime held optic contact as he stood back on his haunches and made a few warbling clicks with his subvocalizer. There was a failed transformation noise and he fell back to all fours, looking at Predaking expectantly.

Predaking's claws clicked against his waist in an uneasy rhythm. He knew what was being asked of him, but to allow a powerful enemy back such autonomy...

During his short functioning, Predaking never thought he's seen a creature with such large and compelling optics.

The Predacon sighed and scrubbed his faceplate. Shockwave and Megatron had never said a word against teaching the Prime more about his frame when it came to transformation, and he had sworn to protect his own. Certainly having a bipedal mode wouldn't hurt?

Predaking glanced at Optimus through the gaps between his claws, his vents rattling in an aborted snort of amusement. "Fine. I'll see what I can do."

The Prime's tail thumped happily against the rock, loud enough that it temporarily muffled the sound of oncoming engines. However, the noise drew Predaking's attention to the road below their outcrop, the two specs of powerful race cars coming into view, obscured within the shimmering of a mirage. Predaking's field sparked with alarm, waking his brethren from their recharge. Darksteel gave a startled yip as though he'd been burned, and Skylynx mumbled angrily. They noted his distress, and joined him at watching the rapidly approaching vehicles.

Predaking recognized those paint jobs. "Autobots," he growled, his plating flaring. He cast a sideway glance at Optimus; optics wide, wings twitching. Hydraulics gave a tensed hiss, prepared to jump.

"Skylynx, make sure Optimus isn't spotted by Autobots. Be gentle. Darksteel, with me." The Prime gave a outraged yowl and lunged forward, recognizing his teammates. Predaking's heart sank as Skylynx transformed and had to hold Optimus back, claws hooked under plating and wings beating frantically to keep the smaller Predacon in place. The Prime struggled ferociously, tail lashing and head whipping back and forth. Predaking reached out to comfort his charge, only to have him snap at his servo. "I am sorry, but it is for your own good."

Images and datareels of Autobot labs that Shockwave had shown him played through Predaking's processor, his assurances that Optimus would be victim of a regime that outwardly detested beastformers and scientific rejects plaguing his thoughts. How much of that was applicable to the Prime's team, Predaking didn't know, but looking out for his own required for him to be certain of their safety, and he only knew of the _Nemesis_.

"I am sorry," he said again, flinching at the wave of outrage that crashed against his field. Predaking turned, and, without a second look, transformed and pounced, intent on protecting his certainty.

* * *

Megatron's processor wasn't on the report Soundwave was giving him, nor Starscream's taunts as the three strode towards the bridge. No, all he could think about was the way Optimus Prime had been pressed against him the previous cycle on the bridge, by his side like it was meant to be. His vents expelled a warm gust of air at the thought of Prime tucked against his side, their frames melding together. Megatron ignored the look Starscream gave him, instead choosing to skim the information that flashed on Soundwave's visor, his processor quickly turning back to Optimus. He was smaller now and would be closer to Orion's size if he had a root mode. As much as Megatron enjoyed watching Optimus struggle to mime out his intents, the thought of having Optimus having to jog to keep up with him like old times, or the smaller mech being maneuvered onto their berth under the Pits of Kaon...

"My lord, are you alright?" Starscream asked, interrupting the pleasant train of thought that had been hurtling down a darker path. Megatron snarled. "What?"

The warlord straightened when he heard the source of Starscream's concern. With a frustrated growl he forced his cooling fans to shut off, sending a glare over his shoulder. "I am fine."

Starscream pursed his lipplates but said nothing, instead trailing behind as they entered the bridge. Megatron immediately saw Tarn poised off to the side, several trembling Vehicons trying to explain some sort of Earth wildlife to him. Megatron ignored them in favor of reaching the center console, flaring his armor once as he forced his processor back onto the matter at hand. The last thing he needed was to appear bothered in front of his soldiers while he tried to get some work done. And for a while he did.

Then there was the blaring roar of an alarm.

"Predaking has engaged a pair of Autobots, my lord," a Vehicon shouted above the din, his visor flashing in excitement. Megatron didn't blame him; while trying to keep Optimus happy, things had been dull beyond belief.

_Why am I trying to keep him happy? He's my prisoner._

"Excellent," Megatron said, ignoring the uncomfortable tumble of code that plagued his processor. He hadn't seen Optimus in joors, and a fight, even if it was just a skirmish, was long overdue. Now that he didn't have a Prime looming over him, he could bend the rules of their agreement. "Tell Predaking to push the offensive. If he has his mech's with him, have them engage. It's time to show them the Cause will not sit idly by and wait while they struggle to survive on this mudball."

Megatron glanced at Soundwave, surprised to see the spymaster's visor staring back at him. An uncomfortable prickle of guilt rolled through Megatron's field. He squashed it.

"Would you like me to join them, my lord?" Tarn's voice was a low purr that easily cut through the chaotic noise of the bridge. There was a small tug on Megatron's spark and his engine growled dangerously. The tugging ceased.

"Be patient, Tarn. What is the size of their forces?" A Vehicon scampered up to the pair and snapped to attention.

"The Predacons are currently engaged with the Autobots known as Wheeljack and Smokescreen, my lord. Their medic appears to be with them as well, and a scan picked up increased comm frequencies." Megatron grinned and dismissed the Vehicon. He could feel a burst of vicious glee in Tarn's field as he motioned for him to follow. It appeared that this skirmish would turn out to be a break in the mundane cycle that had been plaguing the _Nemesis_.

"Soundwave, we require a groundbridge." As the green portal swirled to life, Megatron felt another pang of guilt, and, with slight hesitation, opened a comm channel.

 **::Decepticons, while we combat Autobot oppression today, our aim is to severely wound our enemies. Any mech who is found to have offlined an Autobot and violate the terms of our arrangement with Optimus Prime shall answer to me.::** Megatron sent a glare over he shoulder at Soundwave, who managed to make an expressionless mask look like the smuggest thing in the universe. _Slag him for not allowing even the smallest infringement in their agreement._

Megatron may have held to his bargains, but the need to punch an Autobot was beginning to outweigh the need to keep to his somewhat honorable word.

He stepped through the Groundbridge with Tarn and a squadron of Eradicons close behind. It deposited them in one of Earth's deserts, sand immediately finding its way into the seams of his armor. Megatron wrinkled his nasal sensors at the sensation before observing the battle. The green Wrecker and scout had joined the fight, as well as Ultra Magnus, who made optic contact and began charging towards the warlord, the Forge raised high over his helm.

Dodging what would have been a damaging blow, Megatron swung around and unsheathed the knives, slashing across the armor covering Magnus' arm before revving his fusion cannon. Ultra Magnus twisted and swung the Forge again, but he was too wide, nicking Megatron's wrist and sending the fusion cannon's bolt wide. It smashed into a rock, sending chunks of it hailing down over where the medic had been trying to fend off a Vehicon.

Ultra Magnus' engine roared with a seldom heard frustration as he brought the Forge down, Megatron barely able to catch it before it crumpled his helm. It had been a sloppy swing too; something that Magnus would usually find unnacceptable.

"Where is he?" The Forge was ripped from Megatron's servos and the hilt was swung around and up to whip across his faceplate.

"Who?" the warlord grunted as his knives parried a series of light blows from the Forge. "Because if you are talking about the mech who took your servo, I believe he is over there."

Ultra Magnus brought the Forge down in a deadly arc, and Megatron jumped back before firing a shot to Magnus' chassis. The general grunted and fell to one knee, lashing out with the hilt of the Forge in an attempt to knock Megatron off his pedes. The warlord knocked it aside and leveled his fusion cannon, fully prepared to damage Ultra Magnus beyond recovery (still within the terms of the agreement) when a pained howling caught him off guard.

_Was that...?_

His distraction was all the time Ultra Magnus needed, and the Forge slammed into Megatron's side with the force of one of Astrotrain's overcharged tackles. The thinner abdominal armor caved in under the impact and red warnings popped up on Megatron's HUD. Crushed vents hissed and coughed smoke as the warlord stumbled.

"You know who I am talking about, Megatron. Where is Optimus Prime?" Ultra Magnus swung again and Megatron tried to doge, only for more warnings to flood his HUD as he took a shaky step backwards. The Forge, which had been aiming for his shoulder pauldron, caught the flange of his armor on Megatron's bad leg and ripped the half-healed joint out of place. The agony made him lose focus and catch a punch to the faceplate.

Now he was getting alerts for damaged optical sensors, they were working at under fifty percent, his main energon lines in his abdomen were ruptured. Slaggit, this fight was not going as planned.

Megatron slashed blindly, his optics rebooting in time for him to see the punch coming for him. Megatron rolled, wincing as pressure was put on his damaged leg. His vents sputtered in protest and systems warnings were hounding him. "No clue, Magnus. Why ever would you ask?"

**::Lord Megatron, sir, it appears—:**

**::Not now, you imbecile!::** Megatron ignored the comm from the Vehicon officer and lunged, driving his blade into the Magnus' hip juncture. **::I'm quite busy at the moment!::**

**::Sir, it is about Optimus Prime.::**

**::Can't it wait?::** He slammed an uppercut into Ultra Magnus' lower chassis and felt the metal warp from the force. Megatron gave him a sharkticon-like grin and began to press his advantage. He cuffed Magnus' audials and drove an elbow into his abdominals, slicing with his knives to cut exposed energon lines. He fought with an air of desperate dread that had been swirling around this battle since it had started, only now affecting the warlord in such a way that he fought to free himself of it with a fervor that he should not have possessed unless fighting Optimus. Speaking of which...

 **::My lord, I believe it would be in your interests to hear my report.::** Now Shockwave replaced the Vehicon in his audial. Megatron growled and landed a solid hook to Ultra Magnus' cheek. Couldn't his mechs let him fight? To let go of the responsibilities of leadership for a few ticks and slip into something much more comfortable?

 **::Optimus Prime is not aboard the _Nemesis_.::** Megatron flinched and was pulled into a kneestrike, his chestplates groaning under the stress. The pain that had fled from the exhilaration of combat came rushing back and Megatron grunted, rolling his shoulders. To a lesser mech, the creaking and clicking of disconnected systems would make them panic. Not Megatron, the Slagmaker, Emperor of Destruction. The fact that his ex-courtmate was missing was what made him panic.

He trained his faceplates in a neutral expression and circled Magnus. His comms, however, were far from indifferent.

 **::What do you mean Optimus isn't on the _Nemesis_? You should have been watching him!::** The two pounced and met with a clash of sparks, Megatron's knives on the Forge of Solus. A fleeting line of code had him regret bringing the Dark Star Saber.

 **::Soundwave informs me that Optimus Prime had requested a bridge to join the Predacons two joors earlier. Apparently a report was sent to me, but had been backlogged due to the _Nemesis_ ' systems still being damaged from the solar flare.::** Punch, dodge, swing, slice, dodge again, swear twice, then Shockwave's report was able to be processed into comprehensible information.

 **::Do you mean to tell me he is _here_?::** Megatron backed up, optics flicking side to side, suddenly in search of red plating.

"What's the matter, Megatron? Did you fail to tell me you had Optimus in your clutches earlier. You filthy lia—"

_CA–CRUNCHK_

Ultra Magnus was suddenly slammed across the sand by a brown blur. Predaking released a shrill scream and buffeted Magnus with his wings, jaws clamping down on his prosthetic hand and ripping it free. Megatron shuttered his optics a few times and turned towards the direction Predaking had came from, only to be met with ruin. The rookie—Smokescreen, he thought— was pulling himself out of a smoking crater nearly as deep as he was tall. The scout and green Wrecker were trying to keep the blue Predacon at bay, and the other Wrecker was facing Tarn alone, and he was putting up a good fight. Tarn, however, was staunchly refusing to use his voice, instead exhausting the Wrecker and fighting in a way that Megatron could only describe as playing with his prey. He didn't see a trace of Optimus.

Another yowl. This time there was no mistaking it; Megatron's helm whipped to the right, and he saw his target in the clutches of the other Predacon. Skylynx was holding Optimus back, and the Prime wasn't having it.

The soft sound of a transformation had Megatron turning to face the Autobot medic. He smirked. "Really now, doctor?"

Ratchet's old engine growled unevenly, his surgical knives unsheathed and shaking in trepidation. He returned Megatron's smirk with a grim smile of his own, risking a glance at Megatron's damaged leg. "Really now, Megatron?"

"Are you planning on taking me on? Have you became senile in your old age? I urge you to try; you'd be good at it, what with results of the last time you raised your blade to harm another," Megatron said, vocalizer crackling with condescending venom. He stepped to the side, hoping to draw Ratchet's attention away from Optimus.

Ratchet's plating flared and his field spiked angrily. "I don't know what you've done with Optimus, but—" A few pebbles hit the ground, and Megatron cursed. Ratchet looked up, optics widening. "A fourth Predacon?"

The warlord took the opportunity to charge, engine roaring and blades leveled. Ratchet yelped and jumped out of the way, sirens blaring at his sudden alarm. He recovered from his shock, faceplate hardening. "Building up that army to completely wipe us out while we're wounded in such a way. You've reached a new low, Megatron."

Rather than honor that with a response, Megatron sent for a groundbridge. He had to get Optimus out of there before Ratchet figured out what really happened to his leader. The portal opened behind him and he jabbed his helm towards it, meeting Skylynx's optics and hoping he got the message. The Predacon screeched and spread his wings, diving of the rock with an armful of Prime and shooting past Ratchet and into the groundbridge. Ratchet's vents hitched, his intake opened in dawning realization, staring at the bundle of angry Predacon being carried off. The look was quickly scrubbed off his faceplate as Megatron fired a warning shot microns from his shoulder.

"Decepticons! Return to the _Nemesis_!"

"But, my lord—" Megatron glared at Tarn, daring the tank to speak. They had merely came to severely damage the Autobots, and Megatron refused to break his word with Optimus. The fragger was going to be insufferable as it was.

"We have achieved our purpose. Let us depart and not waste any more energon on these fools." He hoped he sounded commanding, and not like a frustrated sparkling. He wanted to destroy these battered mechs, he wanted to turn back time and erase that comprehension from Ratchet's processor, he wanted Optimus to come back to him and not be so difficult.

Tarn was definitely frowning behind his mask, but did not challenge Megatron's orders, and entered the groundbridge, along with the squadron of battered Eradicons. Predaking looked up from his ravaging of Ultra Magnus and roared, him and Darksteel following the rest of the Decepticons through the bridge. Megatron was the last to leave the scene of the battle, Ratchet's cold look of confusion and anger a haunting sight against a field of destruction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes yes, more dad!Predaking and more MegaOp! Also tags will be updated because MTMTE will be bleeding into this a lot, and I've fallen into Cygate HELL as well as Minimus HELL and just oh my god help.
> 
> ((Also, the key to getting me to update faster is to absolutely SPAM me with comments and suggestions! I love all y'all!))


	16. Insight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now this chapter is a legit chapter! Thank you all so much for putting up with me, so here's a chapter with the LL boys!
> 
> Also please watch this video to understand a joke in this chapter because me and Quetzalcoatls are trash :) (jk I love you spirit): http://cambionnation.tumblr.com/post/159377482851/thespiritofcliffhangers-lastgunfighterballad?utm_campaign=SharedPost&utm_medium=Email&utm_source=TumblriOS

Ratchet drummed his fingers on the console, a stale cube of lowgrade sitting on the balcony next to him. It was late; the sun had long gone down and the others had left for recharge groons ago. The children were over for the weekend, and they had retired with their guardians for a movie night.

"You're still up?" Ratchet sputtered and whipped around, his sirens making a startled _whoop_. The medic frowned and flared his plating in annoyance.

"I could say the same to you, Raf." The boy shrugged and yawned, sleepily dragging himself up the stairs. He sat next to Ratchet's elbow, his legs swinging over the edge of the platform and his elbows resting on the railing. They were both silent, and Ratchet uncomfortably turned back to the console.

"Does that say...hold on, I don't have my glasses." Raf was squinting at the screen, leaning forward as if it would help him read the Cybertronian splashed across the screen. In all honesty, Ratchet was struggling himself. "Illegal mechanoid experimentation?"

Ratchet's vents hissed, startling Raf. For the umpteenth time since being stranded on Earth the medic reached out with his field as an apology, only for him to draw back when Raf made a face of discomfort and scratched his back. Fowler and him had concluded while humans couldn't understand EM fields, they felt an unpleasant tingle down the spine, leaving Ratchet one more way to feel out of place as he watched Raf straighten. "Sorry. Old habits die hard."

"Old habits? What do you mean?"

Ratchet huffed and reached down to pull over one of the numerous shipping containers they used as benches. As he sat, his joints squealed in protest. "Illegal experiments on sentient mecha is something my species is no stranger to. Many frightening modifications actually became lawful under the reign of Sentinel and Zeta Prime."

"The last Primes before Optimus," Raf whispered, watching Ratchet with rapt attention.

The medic shuttered his optics in surprise. "Yes. I can't believe you remembered."

"History is one of my favorite subjects. Of course I remember cool alien history from the stories Optimus told!" He suddenly wilted, looking down and swinging his feet. "Y'know, when he was here to tell them."

"Yes, he was a great story teller. You should have seen him as Orion Pax." Ratchet allowed himself a blissful tick recounting the way the tiny archivist would capture the crowd of Kaon gladiators he would gather, often using Megatronus as his stand for which he told his tale. Ratchet quickly shunted the thought. "How much did he tell you about their reign?"

"Not a whole lot. He said he'd tell me more when I was older."

Ratchet snorted. "I don't fault him on that. They did a lot of tampering with processors."

"Like mind control?" Raf asked.

"Of a sort. There was a place, an evil place, called the Institue. They tampered with your memories, rewrote your subroutines, changed your personality core. Anything deemed necessary was altered. The Institute was famous for the procedure called empurata."

Raf hummed thoughtfully. "Why does that sound familiar."

"Of the many mech's that fell victim to empurata, Shockwave was one of the more famous."

"Shockwave the Decepticon? The one that you said would break every ethnic law in the pursuit science? What did they do?"

"They made him the mech that you know. He didn't always have one optic. Empurata victims loose their faceplates and servos, often getting modified bodies that are supposed to be an ugly hinderance, a reminder to those around them that they disobeyed Functionalist policies. Depending on how badly you angered the Senate, the Institute would punish you accordingly."

"Why are you looking this stuff up then? Does it have anything to do with Optimus?"

Ratchet rubbed a servo over his faceplate. "Possibly. I thought I saw something today, but...but who in their right processor would trust these old optics."

Raf laughed, though it sounded dry as it bounced of the walls of the hanger. Large for a human, tiny for a Cybertronian; yet, for the night, they all were able to function comfortably. "I definitely would."

"You're only saying that because you can't see," Ratchet said, reaching out a finger to ruffle Raf's hair. The powerful sensors in a medic's hand were almost strong enough to feel the microscopically thin hairs, the brush of organic tissue over inorganic metal an odd sensation that leant a certain realness to the surreality of explaining the crimes committed by a Senate that died millions of years before this boy's race came to be.

"That might be true," Raf said, small hands pressed against Ratchet's finger. "Do you want to tell me what you saw? My abuela sees things the rest of us don't, but says talking about those things gives her what she needs to figure out what they are. 'To cut through the veil and set the misconception free' was what she always told my mom. She just thought my abuela was batty."

"Primus, let's hope I'm not 'batty'." The Earth term tasted strange on his glossa, but it got a laugh out of Raf. "But yes, I definitely saw something today with Megatron. He seemed intent on trying to hide it."

"You think it was Optimus?" Raf's asked, face turning serious.

"I've fixed that paint job so many times I could've said it was Optimus from a megaklik away. He just looked, odd. I couldn't see his face, just the paint. Megatron had him there just to taunt us; I'm sure of it," Ratchet said, his engine growling to accentuate his point. Then it abruptly hiccuped and he spluttered and coughed, his vents rattling open to let puffs of black smoke escape. Raf tried to look concerned and wave the smoke away at the same time.

"You okay?"

Ratchet smiled grimly before coughing one last time, his plating flaring to try and situate his vents. "I'll be okay when this body stops aching by turning gray."

"For a doctor who's supposed to be saving lives, you're pretty deprecating when it comes to your own."

"Bah! Isn't it past your recharge time?"

"You changed the subject! We're supposed to be talking about Optimus, not— _hey_!" Raf looked betrayed as he was picked up and carried to the corridor. Ratchet set him outside the door to Bumblebee's habisuite and crossed his arm, raising an orbital ridge. Raf huffed and straightened his shirt. "Fine. Just, if you need to talk—"

"Yes, I know. Humans are the most aggressively social organics I've ever had the misfortune of running across. You think you can solve everything." Ratchet hoped the drawl in his voice would shut down further conversation, but it only made his spark ache to see the hurt in Raf's face. The human sighed.

"Thought we were having a bonding moment. Look, I get it; you've lost someone. But it doesn't mean no one can help you get him back." And with that Raf keyed in the access code to the jury-rigged keypad and entered Bumblebee's habisuite, leaving Ratchet standing in the hall, dumbfounded. His engines hiccuped again–irregular recharge patterns were taking their toll–before he grumbled and headed back to the console room. Recharge could wait until he had this mystery solved.

* * *

By the time Perceptor and Brainstorm had managed to turn the Lost Light around, The fight had already ended in what appeared to be a haphazard draw. A battle had obviously been fought, but the enemy was nowhere in sight. It didn't stop Cyclonus from having his sword drawn as his pedes touched the soft grass of an organic planet, optics narrowed and darting side to side in search of an attack. He could hear Whirl close to his right, and Swerve not far behind, _My First Blaster_ clenched tightly to his chassis.

"Took y'all long enough," Rodimus said cheerfully, looking dinged and dirty, but otherwise online and functioning. Questionable wisps of steam escaped from under his plating, and his grin was a bit too wide, even for Rodimus. It put Cyclonus further on edge.

"You said in your message you were engaged with a Phase Six. May I ask where they went?" Cyclonus asked, sword swinging in a gentle arc. Rodimus made a dismissive "pfft" that had Chromedome, who had been tending to a minor wound on Skids' doorwings a ways off, throwing his servos up in the air. "Seriously, _somebot_ teach me to do that!"

"The coward ran away," Rodimus said. Cyclonus shuttered his optics and straightened.

"A Phase Sixer, one of scourges of the Decepticon army, some of the most feared weapons of war the Cybertronian race has ever seen, just ran?" Cyclonus deadpanned.

"Yup," Rodimus answered cheerfully, lifting his arm as a fussy First Aid began checking him over. "Pretty cool, huh?"

Cyclonus rubbed at his temples and made a low sound of frustration with his engines. "And how, may I ask, did you manage to scare him off?"

Rodimus shrugged. "We were fighting, and then Tailgate came up and—"

"Tailgate?" Cyclonus glared at Rodimus. "You got Tailgate involved?"

"No! I actually told him to stay out of it. Now as I was saying, Tailgate came up and just, like, tossed him, mech. You should've seen it. Then he just up and left." Rodimus absentmindedly scratched at the patch First Aid had placed and had his hand swatted away. "Maybe he was commed? I don't care; we won and that's what matters!"

"The safety of your mecha is what matters. What if Tailgate had gotten hurt, or offlined , or—"

Rodimus held up a servo. "Dude, chill. He can handle himself."

Cyclonus turned the foreign phrase over on his glossa—"do-ood? Dood?"—when he was tackled from behind. "Cyclonus! You came!"

He turned to find Tailgate clinging to his waist, optical band shining brightly. The knot of apprehension in his tanks dissipated as he patted the top of Tailgate's helm. "Of course I did. You are unharmed?"

"Yup!" Tailgate replied cheerfully, dislodging himself. "We all are, for the most part."

It was then when Cyclonus noticed the two mechs behind tailgate. The blue and white one he recognized from intelligence reports as the infamous Jazz. The mech gave him a quick grin and a salute.

His partner was a blinding shade of red, and stood awkwardly, his servos restlessly twisting themselves into knots. He glanced at Cyclonus, but looked away when they made optic contact. Cyclonus gave them both a nod before crouching down to Tailgate's height.

"I told you I'm fine, silly," Tailgate said, field pulsing playfully as Cyclonus checked him over. There was a spot on his back where the paint had been scraped clean off, and there was a dent on his chassis. Several shallow cuts would need to be welded shut, lest they rust and become infected. Cyclonus sighed.

"Yes, I was just...checking for myself."

"Ooooh~" Cyclonus glanced behind him, raising an orbital ridge at Whirl. The ex-Wrecker managed to look smug despite not having the facial assists to do so.

**::Tell him.::**

**::Whirl...tread lightly.::**

"Cyclonus?" A small servo found the burn on the side of his shoulder pauldron, pulling him from his comm link. The purple mech hissed softly. "What's this?"

"A scratch. We ran into Quintesson on the way here."

"The enemy you engaged were a bunch of _Quints?_  Why didn't you tell me?" Rodimus asked, looking rather offended.

"We were in a rush."

"That information still would have been helpful," Drift said, coming up behind Rodimus. He cast a glance at the _Lost Light_. Cyclonus frowned in distaste. "No casualties?"

"None."

"Oi, who's the captain here?" Rodimus' plating was flared as he tried to look commanding. Cyclonus and Drift shared a look. Then another mech spoke.

"You're in charge of this mess?"

Rodimus' spoiler dipped as he looked past Cyclonus. He scratched the back of his helm. "Hey, Jazz."

"Hey, Hot Rod. How's it hummin', kiddo?"

"It's still Rodimus, actually. And fine. Everything is fine. Yep, under control," Rodimus said, rocking back and forth on his pedes. It was then there was a loud crash and a startled yelp. Skids began shouting.

"It's alright, it's just your leg's fallen off."

"My leg's come off? Do I keep going?" Trailbreaker was hanging on the side of a rocky ledge, glancing down at Skids, Chromedome, who was still wrestling with Skids' doorwing, and Fort Maximus, who was holding his broken leg, before looking at the outcrop above. Skids' gun had managed to get lodged up there, along with the servo that had been holding it.

Just as First Aid shouted "No!" from across the field, Skids said "Don't stop 'cause your leg fell off!"

Rodimus groaned and covered his faceplate with his servos as he mumbled something that vaguely sounded like a prayer to Primus. It was no secret that the crew of the _Lost Light_  and their actions were frowned upon; in fact, the only reason Ultra Magnus allowed Rodimus to continue their quest was mandatory reports when it came to energon discoveries and updates concerning Cybertronian space. Cyclonus wasn't even sure that Magnus knew he was on board, alongside some of the more questionable crew members.

"Jazz, please don't report me."

"C'mon mech," Jazz said, flipping his servo in a dismissive manner. "Wouldn't dream of it. I'm gonna have to say that I saw a Phase Sixer, though."

"First Black Shadow, now Quints? What, will the DJD be next?" Rodimus moaned, dragging his servos down his faceplates.

"Please don't jinx us," Chromedome said as he came over, shaking the energon from his fingers. He nodded at Jazz.

"I'm still confused as to why he left without offlining you," Cyclonus said, surveying the battlefield. A few scorch marks here and there and a smoldering patch of grass. It wasn't in Black Shadow's nature to leave this many Autobots online and functioning.

"Might be the Quints," Jazz suggested. All optics were on him. He shrugged. "There's a Con station in this sector. _Tetrus V_ is what they call it. They've been tanglin with the Quints over the last couple'a solar cycles."

"Cyclonus, what kind of force did you encounter?" Rodimus asked, his dismay replaced with cool pondering.

"An E-Class battleship. We were out before we saw any of her attendants, but with a ship that massive it's bound to have a few," Cyclonus said, an ominous cloud settling over the group.

"Primus, they're gonna duke it out," the red mech with Jazz breathed, alarm clear in his optics. His armor seemed a bit lopsided, making Cyclonus wonder how far past his final upgrade this mech was.

"Wait, are these _the_  Quintesson? Like hate Cybertronians and run a mech slave trade Quintesson?" Tailgate asked, pushing close to Cyclonus. He gently raised his arm to wrap it protectively around the smaller bot's back kibble.

Jazz and the red mech gave him a strange look, but Chromedome stepped in. "Yeah. They backed off a bit during the war, airing to snatch up the remains, but they've been getting impatient after four million stellar cycles. Rumor has it that they have a new class of ships even bigger that the Elite Guard's Dreadnoughts from the beginning of the war."

Jazz whistled. "Yet to be substantiated, but I've heard that too."

"I say we let them duke it out," Rodimus said, crossing his arms over his chassis. "No point in getting involved in that hot mess."

"I agree," said Drift. "The casualty rate could end up being catostrophic. I say we find Ultra Magnus and ask for his opinion."

Rodimus pouted, turning to block the rest of the group out. Cyclonus heard hushed grumbling, something about "Pain-in-the-Aftus", and how "he's your third in command Rodimus don't say that!". Cyclonus glanced at Jazz. He could practically see the mech's skepticism behind his visor.

"Well, I'll try to lock in on Ultra Magnus' coordinates, and we'll set up a time to meet," Rodimus said, plating slightly ruffled. "Can't say I'm too happy about it, though."

Cyclonus watched as Drift rolled his optics behind the captain, then made a spark with his servos. Beside him, Tailgate stifled a snort. Rodimus gave them a strange look.

"Won't have to do that, my mech," said Jazz. There was a mischievous smile on his faceplate. "Last I heard, he was with OP on Earth."

Rodimus seemed to gag, then scrubbed his faceplate. "Whyyyyyyyyy..."

"C'mon, you'll get to see Optimus," Drift supplied gently. Cyclonus detected something hopeful in the other swordsmech's field.

"Shut up. You just want to see Ratchet," Rodimus grumbled, pulling away from Drift. "I would really prefer not to have a wrench lodged in my aft, thank you very much."

Cyclonus sighed, his events rattling from the force of his exasperation as he tapped Tailgate and motioned to a patch of grass far away from Rodimus' whining. He tried not to let his field betray him as Tailgate took his servo.

"Is something the matter?" Cyclonus stooped down and rummaged around his subspace for a basic medical kit to patch a small leak on Tailgate's shoulder pauldron.

"No. I just needed some quiet."

"There are hUMANS!" Rodimus screeched. "Try introducing the crew to _them_!"

Tailgate giggled. "Looks like you're not going to get that with the captain around."

"It appears so," Cyclonus said, finishing the patch and allowing his fingers to linger. Tailgate's field brushed his. With a jolt, Cyclonus tried to pull away, only for Tailgate to take his servo.

"I got you something," Tailgate said sheepishly. A small weight was pressed into his servo. "'Though it was kinda nice."

Cyclonus tore his optics off of the bot toeing the grass to look at the object. A carved statue of a swordsmech stared back at him, a deep mahogany that glinted in the setting sun. "It is magnificent. Thank you for such a gift."

"No problem," Tailgate said softly, not meeting Cyclonus' optics. The latter went to tell Tailgate more, how the gift made his spark swell or the funny light feeling in his frame, but their peaceful reprieve was broken by Rodimus' shouting.

"Everyone pack up and be ready to move out! Haul aft, mechs!" Cyclonus groaned internally and glared over at the //Lost Light//. Bots were shuffling aboard, Jazz and the red mech among them. Jazz caught him staring and cupped his servos around his intake.

"We're going to Earth, fam! Let's go!"

There was a thrilled gasp from Tailgate. Cyclonus certainly did not feel the same way.

* * *

"They're moving," Nickel said. Kaon had to guess from the tone of her voice she was sprawled out across the command console. Again. "Should we follow them?"

"Has Sixshot said anything?"

"Hmm, lemme check." Lazy typing grated in Kaon's audials. "No. I can send him a ping, if you'd like?"

"No, we're the Decepticon Justice Division. We don't need permission from anyone other than Lord Megatron," said Kaon, sitting back in the captains chair and crossing his legs. There was a moment of awkward silence, then...

"Are you trying to sound like Tarn?" Nickel asked incredulously. Kaon could picture her disgusted expression.

"You aren't really pulling it off," the smooth tenor of Helex said from behind him, two pairs of heavy pedesteps shaking the bridge. "Gotta be a bit more intimidating."

Tesaurus grunted in affirmation. Kaon huffed and crossed his arms, electricity arcing across his coils. The aura in the room seemed to stiffen, then lighten playfully.

"Didn't mean it," said Tesaurus, who gently patted Kaon's helm. "You are good at being you."

Kaon groaned and flopped back into the chair. True, he didn't have the commanding presence of his amica. It didn't mean he couldn't try. "Whatever. Nickel, set our coordinates for where those Autobots are heading. Try to lock onto their energy signature before they jump."

"Hey, I'm a medic, not a pilot."

"You _literally_  just—"

"Affirmative," Helix grunted, dissolving the fight before it began. The various sounds of a leap filled the bridge; the little hitch in the engine, the clack of fingers across a screen, the shudder the ship gave. "Locked on."

"Uh, Kaon? We've got a comm from Sixshot. He says he needs to speak with us," Nickel said, venom dripping in her voice. She shared the same distaste for the Phase Sixer that the rest of the Decepticon army had. Kaon pursed his lips and waved his servo. That imbecile wouldn't stop him.

"He can sit on a missile and rotate. We have Autobots to dispose of." Kaon took a datacable from the chair's arm and plugged into the port at his wrist, information lighting up in his HUD. Kaon split into a grin, lightning coursing through his frame in excitement. Oh, now there was no way in the _Pits_  Sixshot was going to get him to turn around. "Coordinates confirmed. Helex, jump when ready."

"He says its urgent." Now Kaon could hear Nickel's smile. "He wants us to stay and deal with the Quintesson."

"Tell him Autobots are higher on the List than the Quints," Kaon said, accepting a final quantum leap request from the ship's mainframe. "Also, the planet they're heading takes more precedence. It's not every cycle one has the chance to snuff Optimus Prime."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes I headcanon Ratchet to have his sirens go off when he's surprised, fight me.


	17. Melody

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi my name is trash nice to meet you welcome to robot hell.
> 
> Rated E for explicit because here's that promised smut.
> 
> Also, for real, this was a double update so please also check out chapter 16 thanks y'all.

Megatron felt battered, to put it lightly. He waved off any Vehicons who tried to come to his aid, and snarled when Tarn approached him, not unlike a caged mechanimal. He ignored Knock Out's pleads for him to go the medbay and instead limped towards his quarters. He needed desperately to be left to the sanctity of his mind.

Ratchet was a smart bot; he would figure out what had happened to Optimus. The casualties hadn't been too heavy, but there was no doubt in Megatron's processor that somebot would catch infection from an untreated wound as the medbay became bogged down by the influx of wounds. Energon stores were low, and mine-work was going slowly.

Megatron rounded the corner and paused, field brisling in surprise. Optimus Prime stood outside the doors to his habisuite, engine growling and plating flared aggressively, his optics blue slivers that promised violence from a normally benevolent mech. Skylynx looked uncharacteristically uncomfortable as he shuffled his pedes behind him, gaze trained on the floor. "He was rather adamant on waiting for you here, my lord."

Megatron straightened to the best of his ability. "Of course. Optimus, a pleasure. I believe we have much to discuss."

There was an angry shriek. Skylynx stepped forward and made as though he was to grab Optimus. Megatron sent him a sharp glare. "I can handle myself. Leave us and report to Shockwave for a standard debriefing."

Skylynx bowed and retreated down the hall, casting him one last glance before disappearing around a corner. Megatron waited until he was gone then painstakingly edged forward, gauging Optimus' reactions. The Prime's engine grew louder and louder until it was a roar, his wings raised angrily as the warframe approached, his vents hissing menacingly.

Megatron typed in the entrance code to his quarters, his fingers feeling blindly for the keys as he kept optic contact with Optimus, slowly stepping backwards when he heard the doors slide open. "Now, Optimus, let's talk this out like civilized mechs, shall we?"

Optimus pounced, shrieking, tackling him into the habisuite, claws sinking between unseen chinks in his armor learned from vorns of fighting. Megatron grunted as he hit the deck hard, clotted wounds splitting and the warm wetness of spilled energon sliding down his back struts. Optimus screeched in rage and began pummeling Megatron's frame with harsh swipes from his claws, wings buffeting the warlord and stirring the air in the room to a mild tempest. He heard as datapads fall from their shelves and felt the eddies stir loose cables that had been sliced during combat.

Gritting his denta, Megatron curled one servo into a fist and struck, catching Optimus' shoulder. With his good leg, he managed to knee the Prime's torso and wrap his pede around his ankle joint. Megatron gave a good tug and rolled, flipping their positions so he was the one pinning Optimus.

"Optimus, listen to me you ungrateful piece of slag! I believe I've been more than accommodating, and _this_  is how you repay me? I could have have torn you and your mechs apart when this mess started! I'm beginning to look like an incompetent leader, and I get attacked in return for my efforts!" Despite his words, Megatron tried not to harm the Prime further, pressing his servos against the Prime's odd shoulder joints and driving his knee against his hip. Optimus thrashed, jaws snapping and wings thumping. "Would you just—"

 _Click_. Megatron looked down to find the Prime's chest flooded with blue light. For an absurd moment, Megatron was about to ask _really? After all this time, now?_  but then he heard the noise of a blast sequence. So he did what any self respecting gladiator would do if they were about to get burnt alive by a Predacon.

With a quiet _snick_ Megatron unsheathed one of his blades and drove it down. He felt detached from himself, watching the energon-stained metal sink in slow motion, down, _down_ , the armor just above Optimus' spark bend then give, everything slowed down so he could watch the horrific beauty of little licks of electricity spark from his blade as it plunged deeper, _deeper_. Even the crack of the breaking metal, the pained roar Optimus gave, was drawn out, his optics glued dispassionately to the sinking knife, the blue energon as it gushed from the wound, suspended it the air as if it defied gravity. His blade continued, and he was leaning forward, looking up to meet Optimus' shocked expression, knuckle joints pressing against the dented armor, fusion cannon coming to rest on the juncture of the Prime' shoulder and wing with a soft _tink._

Then time unfroze.

"Primus and Unicron below," Megatron breathed, the weight of what he had done slamming into him with the force of a train. He distantly heard alarmed banging on the other side of his habisuite, Tarn's smooth tenor shaking with ill-contained rage and concern, Vehicons trying to open the door. Optimus' little whimpers drowned them all out, and Megatron reached out with his other servo, his spark hitching as Optimus weakly flinched away. There was energon around his muzzle, and Megatron didn't know who's it was, as his HUD dimly registered the bite on his shoulder cables. Optimus' optics flickered dimly as they glared at him accusingly, his claws loosening their hold on his chestplates as, in one great sagging motion, the great Prime slumped to the floor, vents shuttering in an erratic pattern before hissing in defeat.

"Knock Out!" He didn't even realize that he was calling for the medic until it was out of his mouth, the Prime loosely gathered in his arms. "Knock Out!"

 _Don't you dare go offline on me, you pathetic excuse for a truck. After all this time, you aren't joining the Well as a stupid overgrown mechalizard. I won't allow for it!_  The door groaned and exploded inwards as mechs flooded his chambers. He felt Tarn's rage, and, while he could not make out his words, felt his spark roil. Before Tarn could reach him, Megatron had already fired off two rounds from his fusion cannon, one missing by an embarrassing amount, the other squarely hitting the tank in his treads. Tarn stumbled back, field recoiling in surprise.

"Shut up!" he roared, still cradling Optimus' helm to his chestplate. "I don't have time to deal with your petty whims!"

There was a gentle tug at his arm and Megatron rounded on the offender, cannon hissing dangerously. Knock Out flinched under the warlord's glare, but held his ground and pressed on. "My liege, he's in critical condition. We need to get him to the medbay _now_."

"Of course." Megatron hoped he sounded more confident than he felt, and went to stand, only to come crashing back down on his bad leg. He nearly howled in frustration.

"My leige, allow me," Predaking's voice said gently, and suddenly the Predacon was there, carefully maneuvering a limp Optimus from his grasp. Megatron reached out to grab at Optimus, but the Prime was too far away. Something slipped under his shoulder, something thin yet strong, a small field comfortably sliding across his own. Megatron blinked down at Soundwave, his visor turned up and expressionless. The spymaster gave him the slightest of nods and the two began shuffling after Predaking.

* * *

Optimus' optical feed rebooted slowly, swatches of static preventing him from seeing for a good few ticks. He groaned and tried to stand, only to find that his limbs refused to respond, rather aching and twitching as he struggled to come out of what he had assumed must have been stasis.

His memories came in bits and pieces, rage slowly building at Megatron's betrayal. Optimus had been so close to his team, only to watch the destruction the Decepticons had wrought upon them and then get ripped away. Not to mention...not to mention...

Optimus cringed as a wave of pain buffeted his sensors. His shoulder felt like it had been ripped off, his torso was sore, his jaw felt like it had been popped out of place. What had happened to warrant so much damage?

The video feed of his fight with Megatron was fuzzy and glitchy, his anger worryingly erasing rational thought as he had attacked the warlord. It left him with no clear picture of the fight.

Finally his optical feed came online, though it hardly helped in the darkness. The beep of monitors sounded grainy in his audials, the harsh smell of disinfectant making him wrinkle his nose in disgust. He was definitely in the medbay.

Shallow venting had him turning his helm, albeit with a struggle. Finally, components growling in protest, he was able to see what was making the noise. His spark nearly stopped.

There was a form at the foot of his berth. In the low lighting of the medbay, Optimus could make out Megatron's slumped frame, his spiked shoulder pauldrons stilted at an odd angle, his helm resting in the servo that he'd propped up on the berth. Purple biolights pulsed dimly, coming in calm waves that looked hypnotizing in the darkness. His engine hummed idly, it's irregular rhythm the result of subpar fuel levels. Despite that, a cube of energon was resting near Optimus' tail, barely touched, and a datapad flickered lowly next to it, it's screen a dull green.

Suddenly feeling quite parched, Optimus pulled himself towards the cube of energon, using his optics for illumination. He was nearly there when his wing, which had pulled close to his side, brushed against Megatron's arm. Red optics snapped online, pinning him with their stare. Optimus lowered his finials and looked away.

Megatron said nothing, pushing the cube towards Optimus and dragging his chair closer. Appreciative of the silence, Optimus lapped at the energon in the cube, pretending to ignore the look Megatron was giving him. He stiffened when he felt a servo land on his injured shoulder, fingers hesitant as they brushed across the sensitive metal. They stayed like that, Optimus refueling and Megatron petting his shoulder. He wondered how a warrior's servo, one that had ripped the life from others or found cruel amusement in the torture of the living, could be so gentle. The silence refused to answer him, and he stared, tracing the pulse of a purple biolights up to red optics, softened in thought. In a brief moment, Optimus thought of when he had seen that every solar cycle, an intellectual lost in his processor, mind wicked sharp but optics baleful and gentle.

 _  
"No, Pax, that's no good!" Megatronus' rough laugh echoed across the abandoned stadium, though the playful smile he gave Orion banished any thought of teasing. "Hold your arms like_ this _. Good!"_

_Megatronus stepped away from the young archivist and looked him over critically, optics softening as they concentrated on his stance._

_"Megatronus, I was never meant for combat!" Orion complained, shuffling his pedes. He shifted awkwardly, internal cables straining and hissing under the weight of the heavy shield. "I'm a data clerk, not a warrior!"_

_The gladiator shook his helm and moved to stand slightly behind Orion. "You've no less right to defend yourself then I. And with that smart mouth of yours always getting you into trouble with Barricade, you may have greater need to defend yourself then I will in the ring tonight." He playfully jostled Orion's arm, unbalancing his grip on the short blade in his servo. It clattered to the ground and Orion grumbled as he stooped to pick it up, sending a glare at the grinning gladiator._

_"But Barricade doesn't scare me," the archivist protested. "I can outrun him, physically and mentally! I don't need weapons!"_

_Seeing that Orion's movements still looked doubtful, Megatronus became serious. "Orion, there will come a day when you_ have _to fight. So when that day comes," he took ahold of Orion Pax's arm and helped him raise the shield high, "remember that when you carry a weapon, you carry the lives of the people you care about. Now!" Megatronus clapped his servos together, casting Orion a mischievous look. "As I do!"_

_His knives elongated from the subspace under his arms and he showed Orion different strikes, slowly at first, then at which the speed they should be executed. Hesitantly, the archivist followed suit, constantly looking up to copy the movements. Megatronus would occasionally glance back at him, giving him a smile or nod in encouragement._

_After Primus knows how long, Orion felt his systems begin to complain for a break. A small tap on the his shoulder plating answered his prayers, but it nearly sent him jumping up into the air._

_"Ah, Soundwave. Pleasant seeing you," Megatronus said, raising an orbital ridge at Orion, who clutched at his spark, taking deep cycles of air in a failed attempt to regain his composure. "Just a moment, Orion."_

_The two moved a ways off, leaving Orion to stare longingly at Megatronus' back struts.  
_

Optimus had finished the cube, but stayed within Megatron's reach, engine purring as the warlord traced meaningless glyphs into his armor. His plating was thicker than it used to be, that of a warrior rather than a civilian.

 _  
"He did_ what _?" Megatronus growled, cupping Orion's cheek with the care one would take with a sparkling._

_"It's no big deal," Orion mumbled, tightening his servos on the edge of Megatronus' berth and kicking his pedes. They didn't touch the dirty floor of the gladiator's cramped habisuite under the ring. Orion refused to look at Megatronus' face, fearing that if he did so he would lose his carefully constructed control._

_Megatronus brushed his fingers over the dented finial and deformed metal on Orion's chestplate. "It is to me. Now, please tell me what happened."_

_"I was on my way here from the metro station. Groundpounder and a couple of his goons found me. He said that it was my fault...my fault that you weren't taking the fights seriously anymore," Orion said, glancing at Megatronus out of the corner of his optic._

_"Then what?"_

_Orion smiled grimly. "I told him that he must be on the downswing then, because you still beat his sorry aft without trying. Then he got mad and jumped on me. Lucky for me we were right next to Blurr's, and him and Grimlock were able to get Groundpounder off me."_

_"Grimlock the failed Institue experiment? The one with the beast mode? He still owes me a cube after he lost our last match," Megatronus said with small smile. It quickly turned into a frown. "However, I believe he has more than made up for it. I'll have to remember thanking him for saving your life."_

_Orion's servo found Megatronus', their fingers interlocking. "I think I got a good kick in on him, though."_

_Megatronus chuckled. "Huzzah for that. But Orion, in all seriousness, are you sure you're alright?"_

_"I guess. I'll go see Ratchet when I leave," he said, optics dropping from Megatronus' face. He was quiet for a long time, just sitting there and feeling the comforting caress of Megatronus' field. "Actually, um, can I stay here for the night?"_

_Megatronus smiled, turning Orion's servo over and pressing a chaste kiss to its back. "Of course. I'm sorry it's not as luxurious as Iacon. But now that you're here, maybe we should see about getting these dents pounded out? And maybe an armor upgrade? Just to give you a little bit more protection if you keep insisting on coming to Kaon and hanging around us ruffians."_

_Orion nodded mutely, but his processor was buzzing. They were friends, purely platonic. Orion was merely a disciple of Megatronus, inside the ring and leading the budding intellectual revolution. Why did he feel so...light?  
_

Optimus was still mad, how was could he not be mad? But he felt like he was full of air, like he was floating, or in a dream. He was still purring as he shifted, his helm nestled in the crook of Megatron's neck. Millennia of scars covered their plating, though they seemed to click together like a complicated puzzle, two stories interwoven so deeply that they could never become untangled. Their silence was no longer silence, but rather a fantasia of sounds; the gentle hiss of vents, the creak of metal settling, the rumbling ease of two powerful engines, humming together in tandem to create a song as familiar to them as the melody of battle.

  
_Kaon may have been the slums of Cybertron, but Orion found a peculiar beauty in the neon signs that hung over his helm, the gentle orbs of light that were a trick of the processor dancing across plating. He had been around the city multiple times over the last vorn he had been visiting Megatronus, but always during the day cycle; now, he was side-by-side with the champion of Kaon, an energon treat in his servo as they walked down the crowded street. As a middle caste bot, Orion should have felt vulnerable and disgusted. Instead, he looked about him with wonder, the city going from run down and deplorable in the light of the sun to mysterious and alight with the biolights of a different side of Cybertron under her moons._

_He looked up at Megatronus with wonder, watching the gladiator's scars become rivers of moonlight, his plating gleaming like a solar storm. He caught Orion looking and smiled, optics crinkling and sparkling with mirth. A servo wrapped around his._

_Energon flushed Orion's faceplate and he looked away. Ever since he'd asked to stay the night with Megatronus, an odd feeling had been bubbling under the surface of his frame. It made him dizzy and giddy and off, but somehow wonderful. It might've been the energon candy, he tried to rationalize, taking a bite of the sweet in his servo. They had nothing like it in Iacon; everything was super high performance fuel, or some sort of military-like ration._

_Orion was suddenly pulled close as Megatronus pointed at a club, music leaking from the doorway. The sign above advertised the establishment as_ Maccadam's.  _"Care to dance?"_

_The archivist spluttered, gawking at the gladiator. "D-dance? With you?"_

_"If you would rather not—"_

_"No no! I'd, um, I'd like to," Orion said, giving him a small smile. The grip on his servo tightened and he was guided towards the club. Inside it was nothing special, save the crowd. All sorts of frametypes were there; speedsters wove between larger working class mechs, a group of miners were laughing uproariously off to Orion's left, minibots darted through pedes and delivered drinks. Several gladiators he recognized waved at him, and Orion timidly waved back. One caught his optic and grinned, making his way through the crowd._

_"Orion Pax! How are you holding up, mech?" Grimlock smiled down at him, his scuffed golden plating glinting under the lights. "Haven't had any trouble with Groundpounder, have you?"_

_"No, thanks to you," Orion said. "I owe you."_

_"I'd_ _like to extend my thanks as well," Megatronus said. "You saved a someone quite dear to my spark."_

_Orion's spark hammered in its casing, and he hoped the lighting hid the blue glow that was creeping across his faceplate. Megatronus considered him_ close to his spark _._

_"No problem. Keep him outta trouble until I can get a paid rematch against that idiot, and we'll call it even." Grimlock laughed, swaying slightly. His optics shone as the high grade held him in its grip. "I think I'm off, though. Enjoy the night."_

_He winked at Orion as he passed, but leaned down to whisper "Hope you're up on your antiviral programs" before trotting away, cackling gleefully at the scandalized expression Orion made. Him and Megatronus were friends, that was all. Orion was here because he admired Megatronus' ideals and enjoyed his company, and that was that. Period._

_A melodic voice broke through the upbeat dancing music as the song switched, and Orion's helm snapped towards the small stage at the back of the club, optics going wide. "Is that_ Rosanna _?"_

_Megatronus chuckled and Orion was spun to face the gladiator. The top of his helm only came up to the bottom of Megatronus' chestplate. The gladiator grabbed his other servo, and if he noticed it was sticky from the energon sweet, he said nothing. "I had remembered you saying something about liking her music a while back. She performs in Kaon during the peak of the gladiatorial seasons. I wanted to take you to see a performance; I hope seeing her in a run down slum in Kaon is alright."_

_"Are you kidding?" Orion pretended to ignore the swoop of his spark as Megatronus began to dance, guiding Orion with his servos so the two slowly swung in graceful circles. "This is amazing. Thank you, Megatronus."_

_Rosanna's voice rang sweetly in his audials, the lighting wrapping him in a veil where dream and reality met and became one. He was blanketed in a surreal aura, purples and pinks and blues swirling together as they danced, Orion's servos small and sticky and unsure in Megatronus', though the gladiator cared not, spinning the archivist in slow circles. Rosanna's song had something to do about a forbidden love, forlorn lines making Orion's optics shutter shut and his helm rest on Megatronus' chestplates, his finials twitching when he heard the surprised hitch in powerful flight engines. They stayed in that dream realm until the end of the song, then the next, and the next, until Megatronus gently tapped his shoulder and suggested that they retire for the cycle._

Optimus began humming. It sounded skewed, and he knew he couldn't carry a tune to save his functioning, but his processor was playing him that Rosanna song, the one he had refused to think about over the last four million stellar cycles save for the most hopeless moments, the loneliest nights, were sanctity was only in his processor and the dreams it dredged up. Slowly, he heard Megatron join him, the warlord's frame swaying gently to the melody. Their fields had become enmeshed, the song dancing across their frames like a shared charge.

_  
Megatronus led Orion back to his small habisuite under the gladiatorial ring, showing Orion inside like he was a royal returning to a place, not a unkempt apartment in the gladiator complex. Orion took it with gusto, laughing as Megatronus continued the act._

_"A cube, your highness?" He bowed, but shot the archivist a grin._

_"No, thank you. Your hospitality knows no bounds," Orion said, giggling._

_"Of course, sir. Then how about I prepare the master berthroom, which you will find just right of the fountain of energon."_

_"Megatronus, quit it!" Now Orion was laughing hard enough for his plating to shake. "We're equals."_

_Megatronus was smiling as he straightened, covering the distance between him and Orion with two strides. "How could I be equal with something that shines so bright? You're like a star, or a solar system. Maybe even the cumulation of all the light in the universe."_

_Orion snorted, but his spark was swirling faster than Blurr during one of his races. "I'm not shining. I'm no universe."_

_"Maybe not yet, but you're certainly on your way to becoming my universe." Megatronus smiled softly, and Orion couldn't sense any level of insincerity behind it. Even Megatronus' field, which was usually expressive but closely held, was open, washing over him in honest waves. There was a pulse of amusement. "Orion, if you do not close your intake, I'll be forced to use it."_

_Orion shut his mouth with an audible_ snap _. He stared up at the gladiator, cautiously reaching to entwine his field with Megatronus'. His servos came to rest on either side of the indent on Megatronus' chestplates, Orion's pedes hissing as he stood up on their tips. What he'd meant to sound assertive came out as a question. "Prove it?"_

_He didn't know what he was asking the gladiator to prove; the fact that he meant so much to Megatronus, or the "using his mouth" bit, or the way their fields slipped together like they were forged that way, or all of it and everything else._

_He was suddenly swept of his pedes and against Megatronus. The gladiator was nipping along his neck cables. "Couch or berth. You've got three nanokliks to decide."_

_"Berth," Orion gasped out. He was carried into the small berthroom and reverently set upon the berth. He shot the gladiator a skeptical glance. "Will this hold us both?"_

_Megatronus laughed as he crawled overtop Orion. "It's a standard gladiator berth. You've seen mechs bigger than me, and I can guarantee you that it'll hold."_

_Orion nodded and wrapped his arms around Megatronus' neck. The gladiator cocked his helm. "You look scared. If you are uncomfortable, say the word and I'll stop."_

_Orion whapped him upside the helm. "If you stop, I swear to Primus—"_

_Megatronus laughed, faceplate microns from his own. "Alright, then. As you wish."_

_The gladiator surged forward and their lipplates clashed. At the same time, fingers raced down his frame, wires being tweaked as they got progressively lower. Orion's vents hitched when he was pleasantly reminded of a warframe feature, Megatronus' fangs drawing energon from his bottom lipplate. The assault was timed perfectly as Megatronus tapped against the cover to his warming interface array. "May I?"_

_Orion nodded, optics locked with Megatronus' as his cover slid aside. Megatronus wasted no time slipping a single finger inside his valve, gently pressing against some of the shallower nodes. Orion arched, cooling fans whirring frantically. Megatronus pressed his finger against the filament lodged in his valve, giving Orion a wry look. "Still sealed? A pretty mech like you?"_

_"Sh-shut up," Orion said, though there was hardly any force behind it. He gasped when Megatronus added a second finger, the two probing the seal._

_"I'm just going to..." Megatronus twisted his fingers in a quick motion and Orion yelped, burying his face in the gladiator's shoulder as the seal was popped. "There."_

_Orion whimpered as Megatronus rubbed his anterior node with his thumb and slowly scissored his fingers inside his valve. The pleasure was overtaking the pain, and Orion relaxed, pulling away from Megatronus' shoulder. The gladiator smiled apologetically and pressed a kiss to Orion's nasal guard. "Sorry."_

_"Needed to happen," Orion mumbled, vents hiccuping as a third finger joined the others. The stretch was uncomfortable, though slowly became bearable, then pleasant._

_Megatronus drew back, the_ snick _of an interface panel drawing his attention downwards. Orion's optics widened. That was a big spike._

_Sensing Orion's wariness, Megatronus gently grabbed his chin. "We'll take it slow, I promise."_

_Megatronus carefully lined himself up with Orion's valve and slowly slipped in, occasionally pausing and glancing up to gauge Orion's reaction. He smiled softly. "Relax. It's much more enjoyable that way."_

_Finally, he was full seated. Orion had wondered if Megatronus' spike was even going to fit, though the pleasant stretch was proof that, yes, it did. "Should I move?"_

_"Yes," Orion said softly, feeling anxious yet at ease in the cage of the gladiator's arms. Megatronus began to move, and Orion had to stifle a moan._

_It was even better than the few odd charges he'd accumulated and burnt off with his servos, or the occasional lewd video that would be sent to him by a colleague as a joke. The drag of Megatronus' spike lit up nodes Orion didn't even know he had, and he rolled his hips in an attempt to get more friction. This time he couldn't stop the staticky keen that escaped his vocalizer._

_They were suddenly flipped, and now Orion was straddling Megatronus, the new angle causing him to moan in pleasure. He pressed his servos against Megatronus' chestplates and ground down, the small gasp he elicited from the gladiator causing him to pick up his pace. His hips were grabbed as he was pulled down, and then they were flipped again, Orion's back struts pressed firmly into the berth as he tottered precariously close to the edge. Megatronus bent down and pressed a kiss to his audial. "If you do not think that you are the universe, then I will simply conquer it and present it back to you so you may have it."_

_The low, husky sound of Megatronus' voice sent him into a processor-whiting overload. Warmth flooded his valve as Megatronus followed._

_Once his processor had rebooted, he found Megatronus collapsed on top of him. Orion grunted and pushed at the gladiator until he grumbled and rolled off of him. Arms looped around his waist as he was tugged against Megatronus' chestplates, the humming of a sated engine rumbling against his chassis. A tentative finger brushed against his finial, and Orion leaned his helm into the touch, purring happily._

_"Do not doubt your importance to me, Orion," Megatronus said, his glyphs heavily coated in static. "I meant what I said."_

_"The whole "conquer the universe" thing?" Orion asked tiredly, smiling up at Megatronus. The gladiator continued to play with his finial._

_"Yes."_

_"But if you also said I'm your universe, doesn't that mean you'd want to conquer me too?" The two were smiling fondly at each other. Megatronus pressed a lazy kiss to the top of his helm._

_"I suppose so." Orion cautiously traced the indent over Megatron's spark._

_"I'd like that."_

_"Consider it done." There was a comfortable silence._

_"We should wash," Orion suggested, but instead slipped closer on the tiny berth. "We'll be a mess come the morning cycle."_

_"We can deal with that as it comes," Megatronus mumbled, and the two nuzzled closer, Orion's helm tucked under Megatronus' chin and the gladiator's arms holding the archivist close, falling into a pleasant recharge.  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave comments to help trash upgrade to dumpster.


	18. Détente

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm aware it's short, but yea. Ok. I'm working on it ahhh. So just accept these poorly concealed THGTTG references and we'll call it even

Things were improbable, never impossible. While highly improbable things tended to seem impossible, they weren't, not really. Just very, _very_ improbable.

Brainstorm huffed, his wings twitching in annoyance as he tried to ignore Perceptor freaking out behind him. Cupping his chin in thought, Brainstorm stared at the quantum engines, the sulfurous smell of a burnt stardrive making his vents itch.

 _Unlikely, improbable, but not impossible. We've certainly—_ Brainstorm's line of thought shattered as his vents hitched, his plating rose, and, in one big cacophony, atmosphere was blasted through his vents, his plating rattling and his engines revving then roaring in maximum output. Optical feed cut out, but he could still hear Perceptor's startled yelp as his wings flared and whapped his side. Brainstorm snuffled and shook himself as he tried to regain his composure. _Certainly seen stranger._

Stardrive residue always aggravated his sensors.

"Any update on the engine?" Perceptor asked, eyeing Brainstorm warily. The latter shot him a look.

"No. Unless there was some bit of Ore left over, then I haven't a clue as to why we were kicked out of hyperspace. I know, hard for me to admit," Brainstorm said. Perceptor rolled his optic.

"This is ridiculous. We should be testing the fuel lines for ruptures, maybe take the engine apart and do an overhaul after checking the filters—"

"Percy, Percy." Brainstorm waved his servo, puffing his chestplate. "There's no need to waste time with _tests_. See, I have a hypothesis."

"If it involves turning the _Lost Light_  into a antimatter bomb like you suggested last orn at Swerve's, then I'm jettisoning you into space," Perceptor said, expressionless as he rummaged around in the toolbox they'd brought from the labs. "Because there's no way I'm letting you rip open the fabric of space before I see Cybertron come back online."

Brainstorm snorted. "Since when did you care about that?"

"Ever since one of my monitors picked up weak energy signatures a few orns ago. We might actually be able to go home." There was the smallest smile on his faceplate. "Think about it. We can finally get real labs again to do real experiments!"

"I don't know what you've been doing, but I assure you, my experiments are _very_  real." Perceptor glared up at Brainstorm.

"Oh, yes. The most notorious weapon smith this side of Betelguese fiddling with an empty engex container and a few spare wires to impress a bunch of mechs at the bar with a parlor trick is a real experiment."

"You never know," Brainstorm said, smirking behind his mask. He leaned against the quantum generator. "Anyway, I've been meaning to ask you something."

Perceptor made a noncommittal grunt. Brainstorm took it as a sign to continue. "You know anything about this organic mudball we're going to?"

"Only that a few stellar cycles ago Optimus Prime sent a transmission stating that any and all Autobot refugees were welcome if they were in need of asylum. I've never been there; terribly primitive fleshies, humans are. At least, from what I've heard from Wheeljack's datapackets ."

"You still keep in touch with that Wrecker?" Brainstorm asked, wings twitching in interest. "Perceptor has friends?"

"'That Wrecker' happens to be the scientist behind the invention of the Alpha Concussive. And yes, as it so happens, I do." Perceptor ignored the astonished look Brainstorm gave him.

"Guess you've got a thing for weaponry guys, huh?"

"Guess we'll never find out if I happen to try restarting the engines by bashing your helm on them."

Brainstorm held his servos up in defeat. "Whoa there, Percy. No need to get violent. There are healthier ways to express your affection."

Perceptor groaned and looked towards the ceiling. "Let's just get up and running, okay?"

"Sounds fine by me," Brainstorm said. He pushed of the quantum engines only for the ship to give an almighty shake, making him slam back against them. "Slag! What was that?"

Rodimus answered his question, the intercom crackling to life. _It seems we've run into a slight problem, folks._

"He already said that when we were kicked out of hyperspace," Brainstorm grumbled, peeling himself off the engine.

 _As you know, half the crew ran into Quintesson a few megacycles ago. We have yet to hear from our specialists on why our quantum engines failed, but, um_ , there was an awkward cough on the other end of the speaker. _Yeah. The Quints must've tracked our energy signature. But hey, no biggie! Now here's your friendly reminder from your captain: don't panic! Till all are one._

The alarms shrieked to life.

* * *

Rung had been in the middle of a psychiatric session with Fort Max when Rodimus had made his announcement. The alarms made him flinch and cover his audials as he struggled to find the code to lower their sensitivity.

He glanced over at his patient, who was calmly gazing back at him, red optics cool as they scanned over his frame. A tiny smile plucked at the corner of his intake. "You would think that we'd be used to this sort of thing by now."

Rung chuckled nervously. "I guess."

The ship rocked and Rung was thrown out of his chair and sprawled across Fort Max's chestplates. His optics shuttered behind his goggles and energon flooded his faceplates. "My apologies. This is entirely unprofessional—"

A wave of laser fire slammed into the ship's barrier field, making it shudder and cause Rung to topple right back into Fort Max's lap. The prison warden's frame rumbled in a deep chuckle as he straightened Rung so the psychiatrist was sitting neatly in his lap. Rung covered his faceplates with his servos.

"Max," he said in a carefully measured voice. "The ship is under attack. Don't you think you should—"

 _Damn this turbulence!_  Rung was thrown back against Fort Max, who was now shaking with ill-contained laughter. "You said I should take a break from violence."

"Then maybe monitor duty?" Rung croaked weakly, Fort Max's large servo gently resting on his hip as the _Lost Light_ swayed again. _Anything so I may maintain some level of professionalism?_

"I can do that," he said slowly, then made the least convincing expression of pain Rung had seen in vorns. "But I don't know if I'll be able to handle it. Maybe a smart bot like you could help?"

Rung found himself glaring up at the prison warden and forced himself back into neutrality. "Max." It was a warning now.

Fort Max laughed softly and gently maneuvered Rung from his lap. "Now that you mention it, I am feeling much better. Monitor duty should be enough for me to handle." He then bent processor-bogglingly close. "You might need to write me a doctor's note to get me out of physical combat, though."

Fort Max held out a his wrist, the dataport already open. _Oh, for Spark's sake, he was flirting in the middle of a Quintesson barrage!_

"I can send it to you via datapacket," Rung said sternly, through he scratched at his own wristport nervously. Fort Max's optics watched the movement like a sharkticon.

"I have a helmache."

"There is absolutely no difference between the information whether it's transmitted via datacable or wirelessly." Rung felt his resolve slipping. Then his comm screeched in his audial.

**::Ru-ung. Hey, listen, buddy, I require some assistance.::**

**::Yes, Rodimus?::**

**::You like arks, right? Starships and the like?::** There was another round of laser fire and Rung fell against Fort Max with a sharp _clang._

 **::I do.::** Big arms shifted around him and held Rung tightly, Fort Max humming reassuringly as the ship shook. Far off there was what sounded like an explosion, the noise making Rung's sparkrate jack up.

**::Great! I need you to identify something for me. Jazz is telling me one thing and I don't like it so I want a second opinion. Can you meet us in the bridge?::**

The comm was cut before Rung could answer. He looked up at Fort Max. "We've got to go."

"As soon as you stop freaking out, sure."

"Freaking out? Excuse me, I am _not_ —"

Fort Max laughed. "Who's the psychiatrist around here?"

Rung groaned and forced himself to calm down, trying to ignore the sharp cracks the photon lasers made against the ship's barrier shield. He gently tugged at Max's arms. "Let me out."

He was released and squirmed to the floor. Waiting for Fort Max to follow, he started out into the hall when he was abruptly hauled back and shielded by Fort Max's frame. Rung groaned. "This is ridiculous. It's our own ship, for Primus' sake! The fields are up! I'll be fine."

Fort Max smiled down at him before turning away, knees bent as the pair cautiously stepped forward.

A mere hundred yards away the hull buckled and imploded.

* * *

"Well that was different," Whirl said as the _Lost Light_ groaned and rocked beneath him. Cyclonus sent him a glare, to which he shrugged. "It _was_."

"Seems we've gotta hull breach, mechs," Jazz said from his place behind one of the _Lost Light_ 's terminals. "And I still can't get a good look at the guys shootin' at us."

"Must be a scrambler, then. Maybe we should shoot of a few discharge rounds to see if we get a hit in."

"I dunno. Who knows if Autobots have engaged them before? We may be declaring war by returning fire," Jazz said. He was still trying to get a visual of their attackers on the display.

Whirl clapped his claws together joyfully. "I say we just go for it, you know? Sock 'em in one of their ugly faces and get them to really eat metal!"

The ship seemed to rumble in assent before quieting. A similar hush fell over the bridge.

"What? They stopped?" Whirl whined, but a quick slap upside the helm and a "shhh!" had him grumbling.

"We're being hailed," Jazz said in what felt like a whisper in the hush of the bridge.

"Since when do the Quints try to talk to the mechs they kill?" Rodimus asked trying to peer around Jazz's shoulder only to nearly get decapitated as the mech stood up with astonishing speed. He opened a comm channel down to the engine room.

"Perceptor, Brainstorm," he broadcasted, glancing at his readout spike one would a death sentence. "Finishin' up the repairs to the engine _right now_  would be real nice."

 _I can only work so fast, Primus!_  Brainstorm said. A vague conking noise could be heard in the background.

"You might want to work a little faster."

 _Why? The Quints stopped shooting at us._ Just then, the bridge holodisplay flickered to life. Whirl had to dilate his optic to take in the scale of the destruction; it warmed his spark to see the level of complete obliteration that was displayed on the screen.

The dull green color of the Quintesson Pan Galactic Navy was the only way to tell what the ship had been. It was shredded and smoking, the pockets of atmosphere left in the vacuum of space slowly bleeding out. The ship's hull appeared to have been sawed in two before its annihilation, as there was a chasm of nothingness separating the wreckage. The shrapnel was small; what was left of the ship was disappearing before their optics as they watched.

"Who in the Pits did that?" somebot asked.

As if in silent answer, a huge ship materialized out of the shadow of the nearby planet, its hull elegant yet horrendous, protrusions and points gleaming as it edged out into the open. And kept edging.

The new ship was Cybertronian, but Whirl bet even Tailgate knew who that kind of ship belonged to. The purple metal shone in the far off sun as it headed straight for them, and in their awe, no one remembered to hit the _deny comm_ button.

**::This is General Strika of the Decepticon ship _Decimation_. Puny Autobots, prepare to be boarded.::**

* * *

****Knock Out found the pair entangled on one of the medical berths, Prime's serpentine neck resting on Megatron's shoulder pauldrons, the warlord half-leaning on the berth, half-sitting in a chair in his recharge. Knock Out revved his engine gently.

Megatron woke with a start, his fusion cannon whirring to life. In his haste to stand, he threw Optimus off his shoulders, the Prime letting out an undignified squeak.

"Good morning, my liege. And you too, Optimus Prime." Knock Out inclined his helm at their guest, hiding a smirk. Those two could pretend all they liked, but their fires were obviously still burning bright for one another. "How are the patches holding up?"

Optimus chirred and raised his wing as Knock Out approached, medical scanner in servo. Odd, the Prime's field was pulsing in hazy content, a stark contrast to the blinding fury Knock Out had observed on the night cycle security footage. No sooner had the medic finished the scan when there was the sound of heavy pedesteps outside the medbay before the door whisked open and Tarn stomped inside.

"My lord, this is outrageous! I have been compliant in the Prime's stay aboard the _Nemesis_  but I cannot ignore what happened last night! He needs to be detained! Or better yet, offlined for his crimes!" Tarn was waving his servos in the air, his optics blazing angrily. Knock Out cringed and moved away from the raving fanatic. Sixers like Tarn were prone to rampages when they got like that.

"Enough." Despite his hasty reaction to Knock Out' earlier wake up call, Megatron's optics were far from focused, and his cannon strayed slightly to the left. He scrubbed his faceplate with his servo as he tried to gain some composure. He wiggled his jaw, and his optics finally focused on Tarn, his engine growling loudly as it slogged its way into functionality. "Until you've brought me something sufficient to sit in my tanks, I don't want to hear a single word."

Tarn, somehow managing to be respectfully seething, bowed and turned to Knock Out, who pointed to the energon dispenser in the corner of the medbay. "Press the green button for flightframe mid-grade."

Only once Megatron had been placated with a cube of energon did he look at Tarn. "Now, I'm going to give you one chance to think over how you are going to phrase your concerns to me. Are we clear?"

Knock Out imagined Tarn was clenching his jaw behind his mask. "Yes, my liege."

"Good." Megatron reached behind him and scratched behind Optimus' finials. The Prime allowed it for a tick before gently slipping out of the warlord's reach, instead glaring warily at Tarn. "Now, what was it you would like?"

Tarn and Optims were having a stare down as he carefully said "I believe the Prime's actions last night broke your agreement, and that he needs to be confined, for your safety and in the best interest of the crew."

"I am more than capable of defending myself, Tarn. Are you implying otherwise?"

"No, my liege. But the rest of the crew may not be as capable should the Prime turn his aggression upon them. We are at war, after all."

Megatron actually seemed to be considering Tarn's proposal. "Alright, your concern is well deserved. And I have been promising Optimus his own room."

The Prime sent an alarmed look at Megatron. Knock Out didn't blame him; the brig was filthy.

The warlord smirked deviously, and Knock Out watched as Optimus' finials drooped. "Yes, that does sound like a well-founded proposal. Optimus Prime has violated the terms of our agreement."

"I'm glad you see reason, my liege," Tarn said, a gleeful edge in his field. The fragger probably thought that with the Prime in the brig, he could get away with torturing him for his own sadistic enjoyment.

"That's why, as punishment, he shall be confined to my quarters until further notice."

Tarn blanched. "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me. When Shockwave doesn't need him for tests, he shall stay in my quarters where he can learn to behave. I see no issue." Setting his finished cube of energon down on the berth, Megatron pointed a claw at Tarn. "I expect you to honor this new arrangement."

"Of course, my liege." The warlord nodded and glanced behind him.

"Come, Optimus." And with that, the two exited the medbay, Optimus blinking at Megatron's back in confusion. Tarn and Knock Out were left to stare after them in bafflement.

"I do not like this, medic," Tarn rumbled. Knock Out stifled the urge to run when the tank faced him, pinning him with his stare. There was an awkward moment of silence between them before Tarn sighed. "But I can do naught unless our lord wishes otherwise."

More silence. Knock Out was sure that Tarn could hear his engine thrumming anxiously in his chassis, the proximity to such a powerful weapon of war making it hiccup slightly. He felt small without the steady bulk of Breakdown to back him up.

"Anyways, every bot on this ship seems keen on keeping their distance. I do not blame them. However, it does get lonely. If you would care to join me in the mess hall for a cube of morning energon, I would greatly appreciate it. Also, I didn't get the chance earlier, but I really must get the brand of buffer you use. It is quite flattering." Knock Out shuttered his optics. He was thrown off. The infamous DJD leader trying to engage him in conversation was just...wrong. Not to mention, was he flirting?

"I'm bonded," he blurted out, regret chasing those words the second they passed his vocalizer.

"I wasn't implying anything other than a drink shared between comrades."

 _We are hardly comrades,_  Knock Out thought. But when Tarn held out his arm to escort him down to the mess hall, Knock Out felt a twinge of gratitude mixed in with the wariness. It had been a long time since anyone had shown him a small act of kindness in this propriety-lacking pit.

"But since you brought it up, may I ask who the lucky mech is? Are they onboard?"

"Breakdown. He was...taken from me, actually."

Tarn swore, shaking his fist vengefully. Their height difference made Knock Out, who had taken the offered arm, lean up on the tips of his pedes. "The Autobots shall pay for this injustice!"

"It was a Con, actually. Airachnid," Knock Out said, something deep inside him twitching hopefully. The lack of tension between Megatron and Optimus Prime had led to a relaxed atmosphere on the _Nemesis_  that had allowed his aching spark a little time to heal. No bot had belittled him, or caused him harm. He had already gotten a little revenge on Silas, before losing him to the throes of dark energon. Airachnid, however, he'd been unable to touch.

"Airachnid? She will be added to the List for her treachery." Knock Out didn't point out that she was most likely dead, a reanimated corpse prowling Earth's moon. The satisfaction that someone might be able to avenge his loved one, no matter if it was sincere or part of his job, made Knock Out's spark a little lighter. The ease of taking the dark path was part of being a Decepticon. A proper Autobot (because honestly, there were very few left) would try to forgive Airachnid, or maybe provide her fair trial while ignoring their emotional attachment. A Decepticon could use those emotions to get what they wanted, whether it be revenge or lust or whatever else, without the restraint. And the small part of him that thought she was online wanted Airachnid to be ripped apart, slowly, to compensate for the injustice shed wrought upon his bondmate.

Knock Out looked up at Tarn with a new appreciation for the tank former. Yes, he was still wary, but his spark danced in frightened excitement. It was wild and exhilarating; he was close enough to touch sides with one of the most dangerous mechs in existence, yet that mech was no threat to him, instead a tool for the emotional baggage of Breakdown's death to be siphoned through, and turned to rage. He couldn't move on, but he could move forward. That was what all good Decepticons did, and he felt better for it. So as Tarn escorted him to the mess hall, Knock Out walked with a spring in his step, feeling lighter than he had in weeks.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been reading so much MegaOp to get inspired for the next chapter, you don't understand.
> 
> But if you want it to come sooner, some comments may help. Just saying. :)


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